


sleep in the heat (and repeat)

by jetpacks



Category: Scott Pilgrim (Comics), Scott Pilgrim - All Media Types, Scott Pilgrim vs. the World (2010)
Genre: Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, i didnt list them cuz they dont have many lines but just for posterity, kim stephen and neil are in there too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:26:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22407175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jetpacks/pseuds/jetpacks
Summary: A series of vignettes chronicling the fallout of Scott and Envy's relationship and how he comes to find a new one with Wallace.
Relationships: Scott Pilgrim/Wallace Wells
Comments: 12
Kudos: 116





	sleep in the heat (and repeat)

**Author's Note:**

> me: okay a 1k word fic is enough of a warmup, let's write something 20 times that long!
> 
> ANYWAY scott's relational/emotional/whatever trauma always spoke to me so I decided to write about it, but I also am a hardcore scott/wallace shipper, so u know... synthesis or whatever.
> 
> thank you so much to iris (@jadevrisrezi on twitter) for all the help!! ur the best little sister i could ask for. also to everyone who gave me encouragement along the way, i'd name you all but there's so many!! but i still love u all!
> 
> also, if you recognize all the songs from the titles of the vignettes... why are you me i'm me, but if you don't, here's a handy little playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1boByYU8YWjMwROIXwI5fK + there's also a pinterest board for this fic cuz i was super bored! https://www.pinterest.com/montrealhalla/fics/sleep-in-the-heat-and-repeat/
> 
> tw for emetophobia in the first vignette + the f slur (reclaimed and not used in a derogatory manner) in the seventh.
> 
> anyway that's enough of my bs, enjoy :")

## i. we would crash and burn

“I need a drink,” is the first thing that comes out of Scott’s mouth as he stumbles in the door, fatigued from a tussle with the keyhole. He brushes past the coat hooks, not bothering to hang up his parka and only turning the light on as an afterthought, and practically throws himself onto the easy chair. 

Scott wasn’t speaking to anyone in particular, just to the dead air, but Wallace pipes up from where he’s apparently curled up on the futon. “I sincerely doubt that,” he says, his own words slurred. “You seem pretty wasted already.”

In the back of his head, Scott’s surprised that Wallace is home already- and alone, at that- but he’s definitely glad he is. Maybe not everything is bad about tonight. He entertains the thought for about half a second before the events of the night overtake him with grief again; nah, everything is pretty definitively bad. “No,” he says, “I really- I need a drink.”

Wallace throws the comforter off of himself and sits up, giving Scott an inquisitive look. “What’s the deal?” he asks. “You don’t look so good. And your hair-”

“I don’t want to talk about my hair!” Scott tugs his hat further down onto his head, then wraps his arms around himself and squeezes hard. To himself, he adds, “God, I even got the _haircut…”_

“The haircut,” Wallace echoes, and narrows his eyes. “Did something happen with Envy?”

Though it still sounds foreign to him, Scott’s stomach churns at the sound of his girlfriend’s- _ex_ -girlfriend’s- name. It would be hard enough to ignore even if he were sober, but the combination of distress and inebriation actually has him about to throw up. His movements are choppy and sluggish, but he manages to make it to the bathroom without tripping over the futon; he doesn’t bother with the lightswitch and instead guesstimates (correctly, thankfully) where the toilet is before he falls to a heap and begins to retch into the bowl. 

As disgusting as it sounds, Scott finds that he feels a little better once his stomach’s been evacuated; it keeps him grounded. As he pulls the handle down, clinging to it like it’s his last hope, Wallace flicks the light switch and floods the room with light. His own motor skills are wobbly, but he kneels down next to Scott without bumping him nonetheless, and says, “So… I’m taking that as a ‘yes’.”

Scott nods weakly, then wipes his mouth on the sleeve of his parka. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Wallace grimacing and says, “What? I’m drunk. Let me be gross.”

“I’m drunk, too!” Wallace protests. “But you don’t see me… oh, whatever.” He sighs, reaches out to place a hand on Scott’s back. “So…”

“So,” Scott says, “it’s over, I guess.” The words make him want to rip his tongue out. Sure, it’d been a long time coming, but there was some stupid, naive part of him that really thought that if he just ignored how aloof Envy had been lately, things would go back to normal. He breathes in, body shaking, then exhales in a sob. He nearly collapses- or feels like he’s going to, anyway- but stiffens again when Wallace begins to rub his back. It’s maybe a little too rough, sloppy due to intoxication, but it’s a welcome touch.

“Right,” Wallace says. He’s silent for a few moments before asking, “Would I be a dick if I said-”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Another pause. “So, what _happened?”_

“It’s… I don’t know, I-” Scott cuts himself off; the memory of the fight has vomit crawling up the back of his throat again. Who even instigated it? It was barely two hours ago, but he can’t quite remember despite that, and he doesn’t really want to attempt to. Choking it all back down, he takes a deep breath and continues, “I don’t want to think about it. I need another drink.”

“You absolutely do not need another drink, guy,” Wallace says, voice soft but firm.

 _“You’d_ get another drink.”

“I didn’t just get my heart kicked in the ass by some bitchy redhead.” Wallace pats Scott on the back a little too hard, then stands up. “Come to bed, okay? You’ll feel better in the morning.”

Scott wilts at the loss of touch. “I don’t know if I can sleep,” he admits. The alcohol weighs him down, and he’s certainly tired, but he’ll be damned if he can stop thinking about Envy for even a split second. He’s probably doomed to tossing and turning until the sun comes up. 

Wallace hums as he looks Scott up and down. “If you say so. But I’ll save space for you, okay?”

“Wait,” Scott says as Wallace turns away. “Why are you alone? I thought for sure you’d be…”

“Sleeping with somebody?” Wallace turns back, eyebrows raised. “Just how much of a manwhore do you think I am?”

“I didn’t mean it like that!” Scott protests. Swallowing what little pride he has left, he says, “...I’m just glad. That… you’re here.”

That somehow gets a smile out of Wallace. “Hey, it’s no big deal. Just don’t keep me up with your…” He gestures toward the toilet.

“My… oh.” Scott clears his throat. “I think I’m done.”

“Okay, good.” Wallace’s expression softens further, and, before he turns again to exit the bathroom, he says, “If you need me…”

“Right. Thanks, Wallace,” Scott says, and, for the first time in hours, manages a smile. It’s pithy, verging on fake, but it’s what’ll get him through the night.

## ii. i wake up and i feel alone

One of the first things Scott learns about the sour ache of losing Envy is that he’s going to dream about it- a _lot._

The first dream he has- or, at least, the first he remembers; he wakes up feeling like shit regardless- happens three nights into the new year. It’s fleeting, only seconds of it remaining in Scott’s memory when he awakens, but what he can recall is burned into the forefront of his brain, not to be forgotten anytime soon. 

“You know,” Dream-Envy says, voice crackly through the phone, “you’re kinda marriage material.”

It makes Scott’s heart swell with joy in the moment. He’d thought about it before, about their future together; it’s not like marriage was out of the question, and to hear it straight from Envy that it was something she was interested in too…

It hits him like a garbage truck when he remembers that he’d been dumped three days prior. He opens his eyes into a dark and silent room, the only thing to be heard being the obnoxious- yet somehow soothing- sound of Wallace snoring next to him. Scott takes a deep breath out and lets it out in a half-sigh, half-sob, and, before he realizes it, he’s crying again. He hates this, the crying; he’s a whole adult man (though he doesn’t feel like it), so why should he be crying over some stupid breakup?

Still, there he lies, curled in the fetal position, tears dripping across the bridge of his nose. Going back to sleep is out of the question.

Wallace doesn’t wake up.

The second dream comes four days later, late enough for Scott to let his guard down the slightest bit, but too soon for him not to regret it.

They’re working on some project together for school, some visual arts thing for a class that Scott doesn’t remember signing up for. There’s glitter, glue, and glitter glue; it’s like something out of kindergarten. And he’s with Envy, and he’s _laughing_ with Envy, having a good time with Envy as if they’re friends again, or, even better, boyfriend and girlfriend. Scott’s heart skips a beat as he realizes that it’s the latter, because then Envy’s turning to him in her chair and leaning in, and he’s taking her by the back of the neck, and their lips are just about to touch-

Envy cracks up, face twisting into a gnarled smile that looks foreign on her. “God, that was a good one,” she says to someone behind Scott. “Look at his face! Isn’t that _hilarious?”_

Scott wakes up at that point, and within instants, his chest is aching, eyes clouding over with tears. He runs a hand through his already shitty hair and grips it tight until it aches at the root, then lets go, which makes it even worse. Heaving the biggest sigh he can muster, he sits up and stares down at his palms. His subconscious is mocking him now, outright torturing him, and how can he outrun that? “May as well lobotomize myself,” he mutters.

“What’d you say?”

“Wh- huh?” Scott asks, voice ragged with tears. He glances over to his right, where Wallace is staring up at him through bleary eyes. “Oh. Did I wake you up?” It’s a stupid question, but it’s the only thing he can think to say.

Wallace nods. “It’s whatever. You good?”

“I- I’m totally fine,” Scott says, and gives Wallace the brightest smile he can muster, which is actually quite grim and verging on grotesque.

Wallace eyes him skeptically for another few moments before he closes his eyes again. “If you say so. It’s, like, three in the morning, though. Get back to sleep, guy.”

“Right,” Scott says, and flops back down onto his pillow. “Goodnight, Wallace.”

“G’night.”

A month later, Scott comes across Dream-Envy at school; it’s not the University of Toronto, and, while it _looks_ like St. Joel’s, it doesn’t quite feel right. That’s not what’s important, though. What’s important is that, when Scott comes across Envy with some of her friends, she looks _happy._

“Scott!” she calls. “I was just about to go to the library.” She stands up from where she’d been sitting in the corner of the room, nearly obscured by a clump of desks, and suddenly, there they are in the library. If Scott were smarter, he would’ve realized it was a dream by then, but it only dawns on him when Envy presses up to his side.

It’s a warmth that he knows well, knows every inch of; it makes his breath hitch in his throat, palms sweating, tears beginning to crawl into the corners of his eyes. That familiar ache settles into his chest, and he begs every god he can think of- the Abrahamic one, Ra, Zeus, and that’s it, because he barely paid attention in history class- that he won’t wake up soon, that he can stay in this moment with Envy for a little longer.

It’s that greed, though, that seals his fate. “I miss you,” he says to her, voice soft, and that’s when the dream begins to fall apart. The last thing he remembers seeing is Envy’s smile before he wakes up, cursing his brain from the bottom of his heart.

“Fuuuuck,” he groans, stretching it into entirely too many syllables. He’s stopped crying when he wakes up from these dreams, but it doesn’t make them easier to deal with to any substantial degree. In lieu of sobbing, he sighs deeply and glances over at Wallace, who he’s certain he’s woken up.

Sure enough, Wallace is propping himself up on his elbows, looking down at him with what seems to be genuine concern in his eyes. This isn’t surprising or anything- it’s not like Wallace is cold-hearted- but Scott’s so glad to see it that it nearly moves him to tears. “Did you have another dream?” Wallace asks, blessedly omitting Envy’s name from his question.

Scott nods. “Sorry I keep waking you up. Believe me, I would stop having them if I could.” Scorn edges its way into his words. Who does Envy think she is, invading his dreams? He groans again, puts his face in his hands. “You should just get back to sleep,” he says.

Wallace stares at him for a few more seconds, then asks, “D’you want me to make some hot cocoa?”

“Wallace, it’s-” Scott grabs his phone from the floor and flips it open to check the time- “three in the morning.”

Wallace just shrugs in response. “Well, you clearly need it. I would spoon you instead, but…”

“No, no spooning necessary,” Scott says, “I’ll take the cocoa, thank you.” Honestly, the prospect _does_ sound sort of nice, but he’d never say that out loud. (And why is he comforted by the concept of being held by him?)

“That’s what I thought,” Wallace says, and flashes that smile of his. He’s out in the kitchen in a few moments, out of Scott’s sight, and Scott closes his eyes again, pulling the blanket around himself. The dream’s left him exhausted; honestly, he could fall back asleep just then, though he’s still a little afraid to.

Afraid or not, though, his fatigue curls around him, clutching at the edges of his consciousness; by the time Wallace is done fixing the hot cocoa, he’s asleep again, though fitfully.

When he does wake up five hours later- late enough for a normal person to be up on a weekday- the cocoa’s on the bar next to a note that says _nuke for 30, sleep well._

Eventually, the dreams start shifting away from love and turn to hatred- or, if not hatred, stubborn resentment.

This time, Scott finds Dream-Envy in a room that reminds him of a meeting room in an office building, which it may very well be. She’s seated at a long table, wood shining before her as she taps away at her phone. She’s probably texting Todd or one of her other new bandmates; either way, it makes Scott sick with annoyance.

He stalks over to the table and pulls out one of the chairs- black plastic with blue cushioning- from beneath, then flops into it with a huff. He stares at Envy for a long while, then says, “You know, you really kicked my heart in the ass back there.”

Envy doesn’t respond, though she glances up at him with a look of disdain in her eyes for a few moments before turning her attention back to her phone.

Scott prickles. What gives her the right to ignore him when he’s bringing up- well, is about to bring up- some valid points? “You went cold, Envy,” he says. “As soon as I wasn’t your favorite anymore, you got so _distant._ A-and what for? What would you possibly get out of that?”

Again, Envy doesn’t say anything, just glances to the side, glaring with a pout. 

Increasingly frustrated, Scott asks, “I mean, did you ever even love me in the first place? If you did, you wouldn’t have abandoned me like that.”

Envy sighs, pinches the bridge of her nose. She’s still silent when she stands up and exits the room, and all Scott can do is watch her leave without any modicum of closure on his part as the dream begins to fade.

He’s silent when he wakes up. The dull, tight feeling hasn’t seeped into his chest yet- it seems that angry dreams are far more tolerable than loving ones- but he’s still acutely aware that he’s going to be thinking about it all day. 

Unfortunately, because he’s been quiet, Wallace is still sleeping soundly, and Scott finds that that’s what hurts the most. There’s a period of a few minutes where he turns it over in his head. Should he wake him up? It’ll make him feel better, and that’s what he needs right now- to feel better.

After a while, Scott makes up his mind. “Wallace,” he whispers, prodding him in the shoulder. “Wallace, wake up.”

Wallace groans, and, still half-asleep, bats Scott’s hand away. After a sigh, he asks, “What is it, Scott?”

If Scott were a better man, he’d feel guilty right about now. Since he’s not, he answers, “I had another dream.”

That gets Wallace up. He shifts into a sitting position; runs a hand through his thick, dark hair; and says, “Ah. Are… you okay?”

Scott doesn’t quite have an answer. “Can I get back to you on that?” he asks, defeated.

Wallace hums an ‘okay’ and stretches his arms out in front of him, threading his fingers through each other. Through a yawn, he says, “Well, while we’re both up, I may as well make breakfast or something.”

Scott gives him a look. “It’s gotta be, like, four in the morning. Why would you make breakfast?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I wanted to do something nice for you? In case you haven’t noticed, you’ve been pretty depressed lately.” Wallace stands up, stretching his legs now, then steps over Scott to walk to the kitchenette. “I think we’ve got stuff for salad.”

Scott grunts in acknowledgement. He’s not a huge fan, but if that’s what Wallace wants to make, that’s what he wants to make. He’s too tired to put up a fight. “I guess that might be good,” he says. “Spinach or romaine?”

“Uh…” There comes a shuffling noise as Wallace opens the vegetable drawer in the fridge and rifles through it. “It’s spinach.”

Scott bites back a groan and flings an arm over his forehead, looking up at the ceiling. “Oh, okay, cool. I love spinach,” he says, though it’s a lie, and Wallace probably knows that. Still, he’s not about to turn down a meal someone else has made for him, so he all but rolls off the futon and stands up, then rubs his eyes and slumps toward the bar. 

Wallace looks up from where he’s preparing the salads- not much more than some spinach tossed in dressing, probably on account of him being dead tired, but a meal nonetheless- and says, “Wait a sec.”

“What?” Scott asks, dragging out the word. “Can I not get some food?”

“No, you’re _going_ to have this salad, since I know damn well you haven’t had anything green in two weeks. I was going to say…” Wallace sets the salad tongs back in the bowl and walks back over to the futon. “I forgot to give you this.” He grabs the comforter, and, when Scott turns to face him, slings it around his shoulders. 

Scott would object to being treated like a kid, but he finds that it’s actually sort of nice- that, and he’s too tired to not enjoy the prospect of having a blanket. “Thanks,” he mumbles, clutching it closer around himself. 

“No problem,” Wallace says, and shrugs. He returns to the counter and spoons a bit of the salad (if it can be called that) into a bowl, then slides it over the bar to Scott, followed by a fork.

Despite the dream-and his distaste for spinach- Scott musters a smile. If this is how things are going to go from now on, then maybe he can put up with a few lousy dreams once in a while. Stifling a familiar- and almost pleasant- ache behind his ribs, he takes a bite of the salad.

## iii. tender is the ghost

Wallace isn’t surprised, per se, that he’s developed feelings for Scott. What surprises- and, honestly, embarrasses- him are the circumstances under which it happens. The way it usually goes is that he takes some guy home a few times and realizes a couple months in that he’s caught the emotion like a cold; with Scott, though, there hasn’t been anything since they moved in together (although, to be fair, that was a gay enough story). He’s just there, _existing,_ and somehow that’s enough. More specifically, what he’s doing is dunking Ritz crackers in the milk Wallace has just picked up from the grocery store.

“What the hell are you doing to my crackers, you heathen?” Wallace demands as soon as the action catches his eye.

Through a mouthful of what _has_ to be disgustingly mushy carbs, Scott says, “...Eating them?”

“You’re _dipping_ them in _milk.”_

Scott swallows the lump of moistened cracker in his mouth. “So what?”

“You’re an animal, that’s what,” Wallace says, and closes the newspaper he’d been halfheartedly reading. He’d been skimming some article on a band he’s only vaguely heard of, because it’s too early in the afternoon to do anything interesting, but this necessitates his attention. As he stands up and approaches the bar, he says, “Christ above. Give me that,” and snatches the next cracker out of Scott’s hand, breaking it in half.

Scott just sticks his tongue out at him and dips what remains in the milk, and Wallace, the poor gay bastard, gets punched in the gut with what can only be described as yearning. Absolutely terrible.

“What the shit?” he mutters, hoping it’s low enough that Scott won’t hear it. His hopes, however, happen to be fruitless.

“Dude, _why_ are you so upset about my cracker-eating habits?” Scott rolls his eyes. “It’s just an alternative method of getting my calcium. Try it.” He hands the half-cracker out to Wallace, who stares at it with mild disdain.

“...You know I love you.” There’s supposed to be a ‘but’ trailing the statement, but he can’t seem to find one for a second. It’s annoying, suddenly, how much he genuinely means it, even though he’s saying it offhand to console Scott about how he’s absolutely not going to put that in his mouth. 

“There’s a ‘but’ coming, isn’t there?” Scott asks, bringing Wallace back to the present.

He snorts. “Well, _obviously.”_ It takes everything he’s got not to chuckle nervously like a fucking schoolgirl. _“But,_ there’s no way I’m eating that. Nice try.” He forgets his newspaper as he walks back to the easy chair and hopes to a God he hasn’t actually prayed to in approximately thirteen years that he’ll wake up in the morning feeling completely unburdened by romantic feelings of any sort.

These hopes, too, are too high.

## iv. it’s alright, it’s okay

Wallace isn’t sure he’s seen Scott do homework since the breakup. It’s not like he was a particularly studious person in the first place, but it seems he’s been too distraught to do anything even remotely school-related besides dragging himself to class, missing it at least once a week. 

“I do _not_ e- I mean, I’m not jealous of you,” Wallace says as Scott arrives home from his evening class, dropping his bag on the floor with a _thud._ Wallace himself had graduated a couple years back, and, while he has a job now, which is its own great deal of work, at least he doesn’t have to deal with homework. What a drag.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Scott says, and sighs. He flops down on the futon next to him and falls backward onto it, arms spread out like a starfish; the back of one of his hands settles on Wallace’s chest, which has his his heart beating a little bit quicker beneath it. Scott’s quiet for a moment before he says, “I think I’m gonna try to do some homework tonight.”

Wallace raises his eyebrows. “Hey, that’s progress,” he says, and smiles, hoping it’ll pump Scott up at least a little. “What class is it for?”

“Um, abnormal psych, I guess,” Scott says. “We’re learning about depression. Fitting, eh?” He turns to look at Wallace with this sad smile on his face; it hurts his heart to see. 

Wallace hums his agreement and tries to cover up his own sadness with a smile. “Well, hey,” he says, “if you need help, let me know.”

“Right.” Scott sits up, and Wallace mourns the loss of touch for a few moments, stifling a sigh. “Wait, do you know anything about abby psych?”

Shit, he’s in deep- even Scott’s simple action of abbreviating the class’ name has his chest aching with longing. Something about it is just… cute. Wallace promptly decides that he hates pining. “Uh, not really,” he admits. “I’m not a humanities person. But I could try; I mean, how hard could it be?”

“I have no idea,” Scott says, an admission of his own. “I haven’t paid attention all semester, or done any homework. I think I’m failing.”

“Yeah, probably.”

“Yeah. Probably.” Scot gnaws on the inside of his mouth and says, “So, um... I’m gonna get started.”

“Right,” Wallace says. 

The two stare at each other for a moment or two longer before Scott quirks the tips of his lips up into a lopsided half-smile, which is a rare thing to get out of him lately. Without another word, he grabs his textbook and notebook from his bag and sets the textbook on one thigh, flipping it open to the correct page and leaning his elbow on it to keep it open. 

He’s silent for a long while before he says, “...I don’t know if I can do this.” Turning back to Wallace, he adds, “Will you help?”

Wallace gives a carefully measured response- he can’t let Scott know how grateful he is for every interaction with him. Said carefully measured response is a nod as he sits up and takes a look at the book. “What’s your assignment?” he asks.

“Um, I _think…_ we have to do the review questions at the end of the chapter. Which is what I’m open to.” Scott points to a series of questions at the bottom of the page he’s flipped to. “But I don’t know if I can read the chapter. It’s just…” He breathes in and exhales a sigh. “Too many words. Y’know?”

Truthfully, Wallace has never been in the same position- even at times where he _was_ depressed (he shudders as he remembers post-closet high school), it never got to the point Scott’s at. Still, he says, “Yeah, I know. Um, let’s take a look at these.” Gently, he slides the textbook from Scott’s thigh to his own lap, breathing going sideways as his skin brushes against his own. “‘List five possible causes of depression’,” he reads. “Hey, that seems easy enough.”

Scott rifles around in his bag for a few moments before pulling out a pencil, then grabs his notebook again, labeling the first question with ‘1)’ and numbering lines 1-5. “Okay. Um. Five causes of depression.” He pauses. “...One: breakups.”

Wallace sighs, giving Scott a sympathetic- and way too loving- look. When Scott turns to look at him, though, he drops the expression and says, “Uh, two: unrequited love.”

Scott studies him for a moment, blinks, then asks, “Um, isn’t that kinda the same thing?”

Wallace shrugs. “Hey, you don’t have to write it down if you don’t want to.”

“No, no, I will.” Under his breath, Scott repeats, “Two:… unrequited… love.” Then, without waiting for Wallace, he adds, “Three: withheld affection; four: being left for some- some-” He takes a deep breath in, then lets it out in a shuddering exhale. “I can’t, I can’t…”

“Hey," Wallace says, bringing a hand up to rub Scott’s back and cursing himself for not being better with words. “It’s, um, it’s gonna be okay.” What else can he say? That he’s in love with him, so he shouldn’t be sad?

Scott is, beyond some sniffling, silent for a while. Then: “I don’t know that it is.”

“Oh, come on, guy,” Wallace says, expression softening. “Nothing sucks forever.”

“How do you know that?” Scott protests. “Maybe this is the first time anything’ll ever suck forever. Maybe I’m just doomed.”

It makes Wallace want to scream, frankly- not at Scott, of course, but at Envy, or at the situation, or at the entire world, or… God, all of it. And beneath that urge, there’s something even more primal: the urge to be selfish, to tell him that it won’t suck forever because he’s right there to love him like Envy didn’t. “You’re not doomed, you’re just sad,” he says, instead of doing any of that. “But look- you’re doing homework for the first time in ages; that’s progress!”

“I got through four fifths of one question and started crying,” Scott says, voice flat.

“It’s still a lot of progress.” Wallace sighs, runs a hand through his hair- his own, unfortunately, not Scott’s. “How about we take a break? When’s this due, anyway?”

“Uh, the day after tomorrow,” Scott says. He falls back against the futon again and squeezes his eyes shut. “But then I have stats tomorrow and Thursday, and I don’t wanna do math, man.”

“What happened to your other classes?” Wallace asks. “I thought you were taking comp and Spanish.” 

“Why do you know my schedule so well?”

Wallace shrugs.

“Well, anyway,” Scott says, “I dropped them. I just can’t do…” He gestures toward the notebook and text. “All that.” 

“Well, you did your best,” Wallace says. “I guess that’s all that matters.”

“I _guess…”_ Following suit, Scott runs a hand through his own hair and grips it in what looks to be a painful fashion. “But, um, yeah. Could we take that break?”

“Of course we can,” Wallace says, and tries to ignore the way his heart breaks in his chest at the sound of Scott’s misery. There are some things he just needs to suck up and get over, because Scott’s the one in the worse position, so why should he be feeling this bad? “D’you wanna play some Melee?”

Scott’s features brighten at the suggestion. “Yeah,” he says, “I’d like that.”

## v. you’ve got some nice shoulders

It’s slow, the way Scott realizes he’s in love. It starts out slow, anyway; the begrudging recognition of how Wallace manages to look nigh flawless even when he doesn’t, somehow, comes first. After that, it’s the realization that when he’s gone, Scott misses him- not the way he misses his other friends when he’s left alone, but an aching sort of missing that leaves him feeling unfulfilled. 

It clicks, finally, when Scott finds himself dreaming about him. If it were one dream, he could brush it off, dismiss it as a fluke, but when it’s the third time in two weeks, it gets a little more concerning. They’re not even anything risque, really- although he wouldn’t mind if that were the case- just the usual, but something _more._ Something that makes him wake up touch-starved, heart pounding, not daring to glance to his right.

Tonight, a warm-for-Toronto night in April, the dream happens to be about going to a concert with Wallace. Luckily, it’s not anything involving Envy’s musical endeavors, which would leave him ruminating on it for the rest of the day. No, it’s some fake dream-band rocking out blurry, incoherent melodies that he won’t remember when he wakes up.

Dream-Wallace says something to Scott, or maybe he mouths it; either way, Scott can’t figure out what he’s saying- he never learned how to read lips. 

“Huh?” Scott asks, leaning in. He’s on the verge of lucidity, not quite aware but not entirely in the dark, which means he’s dangerously close to getting what he’s about to discover that he wants. 

Dream-Wallace’s voice is clearer now, even above the music. “I _said,_ will you kiss me?”

It’s the first time a Wallace dream has taken this much of a romantic turn, and it’s what clues Scott in on the fact that it’s all a dream. For a moment, he’s disappointed- of course the real Wallace would never say that to him; he’s far more taken by strangers- but then it occurs to him that he can do whatever the hell he wants. “Oh, my God,” he says. “Fuck _yes.”_

“What’re you oh-my-Godding about?”

Scott opens his eyes reluctantly, the seedy concert venue replaced by the ceiling of their shoddy apartment. Wallace is sitting up, giving him an intrigued look, hair mussed up from sleep in a way that has Scott’s heart beating sideways. “What was I…? Oh.” His dream’s fading away, disappearing into the back of his mind, but he’s still overcome with the urge to take Wallace by the back of the neck and kiss the shit out of him. 

Well, that’s a pretty big realization.

“Whatever it was, you were being pretty loud about it.” Wallace sighs. “Look, I don’t mind you having wet dreams, but I need my beauty sleep.”

“You really don’t.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” Scott says upon realizing his folly. “Um, it wasn’t a wet dream, anyway.”

“Okay, well, I still have an hour to sleep before I have to get ready for work, so… go back to bed,” Wallace says.

“Fine,” Scott replies, acquiescing, but he’s not sure he’ll be able to get back to sleep- not knowing what he knows now.

## vi. i want it, i need it

It’s pretty unfair, in Scott’s opinion, that Wallace is inches away from him on the futon, but isn’t holding him (or vice versa). Scott’s additional opinion is that it’s sort of pathetic that he’s thinking that. He’s a grown man, he shouldn’t _need_ to be held, but it’s just been so long- a bit over five months- and really, toward the end, there were precious few instances of anything tender with Envy. If he could just reach out, wrap an arm around Wallace, pull him closer, but… he can’t. Not now.

Scott groans and flings an arm over his eyes, squeezing them shut in frustration. “This _sucks,”_ he mutters.

“What sucks?” Wallace asks glancing at him out of the corner of his eye for a moment before returning to his newspaper.

“Uh.” Scott clears his throat, looks away; Wallace can’t know what he’s thinking. “Nothing. I don’t know. Not… having a job?” And it’s strange, truly, how hesitant Scott is about the whole situation, because usually, he’s pretty bold. There’s just something about falling in love with a close friend that frightens him to the core- the prospect of losing Wallace verges on nauseating.

“I’ve got a pretty simple solution to that, guy,” Wallace says, breaking Scott out of his thoughts. “They’ve got job listings in here.” He hands the newspaper to Scott, who curses himself for saying anything as he grabs it.

“Don’t you need this?” he asks. “Like, to read?”

Wallace shakes his head, then, after standing up, stretches his arms and legs. “Nah, I’m going to pick up groceries anyway.” As he takes his coat off the hook, he turns back to Scott and says, “Will you make dinner while I’m gone? I might be a while.”

“Uh-huh,” Scott says slowly, and runs a hand through his hair. The thought of cooking for Wallace, even though it’s so mundane- and, really, something he should be used to, being his roommate- has him feeling stupid amounts of… well, something.

“Is something wrong?” Wallace asks. “You’ve been acting kinda sketchy lately.”

Scott shakes his head vigorously, dismissing the thoughts. There’s no point in thinking about that; he should just make dinner and stop being such a mess. “No, I’m totally fine,” he says, attempting to laugh it off, but the chuckle that follows is stiff and awkward.

Wallace eyes him for a few moments longer. “If you say so,” he says finally, and makes an exit.

Scott can’t help but watch him go.

As the days go by, Scott’s enamorment only gets more and more intense. It’s _very_ inconvenient. He gets so close to spilling his guts again- in the good way, not the way he did on New Year’s- that he’s certain someday he’ll just say it on accident, and how would that end? 

“I really like you,” he almost says as Wallace opens the door one day, returning home from work.

“We should go out,” he almost says when Wallace slides beneath the covers of the futon next to him.

“Can we make out?” he almost says when Wallace turns on a movie for the two of them to watch.

But he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he grins and bears it, because some things he just can’t risk.

## vii. lovers instead

It would be easier on the heart, pining for a close friend, if said close friend didn’t live with you. Unfortunately for Wallace, he and Scott have been roommates for what feels like forever, and he’s not about to evict him just because he’s having unfortunate feelings; thus, he has to see Scott do all sorts of stuff that he somehow finds _endearing_ now. For example: Wallace recognizes the shirt that Scott’s wearing as he pads across the room as his own, which _should_ be nothing- it happens quite a bit (the advantages of wearing the same shirt size as your roommate are boundless)- but now, it’s almost unbearable. 

Midway to the fridge, Scott stops in his tracks and asks, “...Why are you staring at me?” He scratches the back of his neck, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

Much to his luck, Wallace is an expert at playing it cool. He crosses one leg over the other, turning his gaze back down to the book he’s been pecking at, and says, “Nothing. Just noticed you were wearing my shirt. If you get something on it, you’re the one who’s gonna take it to the dry cleaners.” Still, his heart’s doing jumping jacks in his chest. It’s just so stereotypically couple-y, and, while Wallace isn’t all that dramatic in relationships, it’s ridiculous to think he wouldn’t get a _little_ giddy at the thought of it.

“I won’t get anything on it!” Scott protests. “...Probably.”

“Uh-huh.” Wallace flips to the next page, though his brain’s barely retained any of the content on the previous one. He’s far too distracted for that.

“Look, if you really don’t want me wearing it, I can…” Scott grabs the bottom hem of the shirt and begins to pull it up, which is _not_ what Wallace needs right now, as tempting as it is.

“It’s alright,” he says, and swallows, becoming starkly aware of the lump in his throat. “Just make sure it gets back in the closet.”

“There’s a gay joke to be made here, but I don’t feel like figuring it out,” Scott says as he continues toward the fridge. “D’you want some nachos?”

Loving Scott isn’t always easy, though. Or, rather, it’s entirely _too_ easy, but the state of him is tough to see sometimes, given that Wallace cares about him more than he’d like to admit. The last time Wallace saw him, Scott had been fine, but now, as he opens the door to the apartment with a somber expression on his face, it seems that he’s not. “Hey,” he says, barely more audible than a mumble.

Wallace snaps his phone shut- he’d been texting Other Scott something along the lines of _I’m having a total faggot crisis-_ and turns his attention toward this Scott. “Hey,” he says. “Why the long face?”

Scott grunts in response, kicking his shoes off and watching them, blank-faced, as they tumble across the floor. “They’re starting to put singles out,” he says after a moment of quiet. 

Yeah, that’ll do it. _“Her_ band?” Wallace asks. “How much do they suck?”

“I don’t know. I started zoning out as soon as I recognized her voice.” Scott approaches the futon and slides beneath the covers, curling into a fetal position and closing his eyes tight. “I just wanna sleep, okay?”

Wallace sets his phone down beside his pillow and glances over at Scott. If he had his way, he’d be holding him, because it’s what the poor guy deserves- and, of course, because he’s in love with him, but that doesn’t need to be said at this point. It’s just sort of a fact of life: water is wet, the sky is blue, and Wallace is in love with Scott.

Unfortunately, on account of the whole ‘not having told Scott his probably-unrequited feelings’ thing, he can’t do that, so he instead reaches out to clap a hand on his upper arm and says, “She’s a bitch, guy. You’re better off without her.”

Scott heaves a deep sigh, exhaling what has to be nearing a hundred percent of the air in his lungs. “I know that, but…” He pauses. “Have you ever gone through anything like this?”

“Uh, no,” Wallace admits. “But it looks like you’re pretty messed up about it.”

“You can say that again.”

It’s Wallace’s turn to sigh. After a long moment of hesitation, he rubs his thumb in long swoops against Scott’s arm in an effort to comfort him. His heartbeat picks up as he does so; at one point, this wouldn’t have meant anything, but now, it has him choking on his love. Unfortunately, he’s not that good at comforting people with words; instead, he says, “How about we go out for dinner? That might cheer you up.” (For the record, it’s not a coy way of asking him out on a date, but the idea excites him anyway.)

Scott hums as he considers it. “I guess,” he says. “You’re paying?”

“I always pay.”

Scott turns to face Wallace, and his expression is a little brighter now, though it’s still not a smile. “Cool. Um, thanks.”

“Hey, no problem,” Wallace says, and smiles as disarmingly as he can. “It sucks to see you like this.” Shit, is he being too much? Quickly, he adds, “You really need to get laid.”

“I don’t need to get laid,” Scott says, squeezing his eyes shut again. “I just need… I just…” He’s quiet for a moment before he continues, “Uh, Pizza Pizza?”

“I can do that.”

So Wallace continues to love Scott, and love him, and love him; and it’s alright, it’s okay- until it’s not, and it comes to a head.

## viii. you’re half-cut and you’re frozen

Scott is mostly asleep by the time Wallace arrives back at the apartment. He’s lying on the futon, holding his phone up in front of him and tapping away at the buttons as he plays _Snake,_ though he’s failing miserably due to- again- being mostly asleep. He squints as the bright bluish light burns his eyeballs, but he doesn’t bother to turn down the screen brightness. He only stops playing when the door slams open; gracelessly, he drops his phone on his face and gives a shout.

“What the hell are you yelling about?” Wallace slurs, shadow thrown onto the floor by the moon. “It’s just me. Very drunk me.” He shrugs his jacket off and tries to hang it on its hook; when it falls in a heap, he makes no attempt to pick it back up.

“Why am I not surprised?” Scott says, and sets his phone aside as he sits up. Obviously, he’s happy to see Wallace, given that he’s been pining over him for weeks now, but he’s going to be bitter about the state of his face (bephoned) for a little while. 

Wallace kicks off his shoes; one goes flying across the room, making it three quarters of the way to the futon. (Scott has nothing to say about that, nor does he have any right to; his own shoes are lying somewhere near the bar.) “Don’t get on my dick about it-” Wallace yawns- “unless you’ve got lube.” 

Scott ignores the statement and gestures toward the futon. “Were you gonna lie down, or are you planning on running into a few walls first?”

“I’m not _that_ drunk,” Wallace protests. He stumbles over to the futon; for a split second, Scott is sure he’ll fall straight into his lap (which he would have exactly zero complaints about), but instead, he flops down inelegantly just a few inches away from him.

Scott sighs and settles back into a lying position, turning toward Wallace. He’d be turned away from him, but he’s honestly aggravatingly endearing when he’s asleep, and he’s just enough of a creep to enjoy that _._ He thought the same thing about Envy- he shudders at the memory; this is _not_ the time to think about her, but it at least proves that he’s capable of having feelings for someone besides her, which is a great deal of progress, probably. 

After trailing his eyes over Wallace’s features for a minute- long eyelashes; thick, dark hair; nice eyebrows; a light scattering of freckles- Scott closes his eyes, ready to sleep like he was originally meant to be doing. Before he can, though, he hears a faint mumble and notes that Wallace’s (really kissable-looking) lips are moving. “I thought you were asleep,” Scott says, voice nothing more than a whisper. “What’re you saying?”

“I was saying…” Wallace falls silent again for a few moments. “I was _saying…_ I have…” His voice crumbles into something inaudible, and Scott frowns- he’s not frustrated _,_ of course, just immensely curious.

“You have what?” Scott reaches over and nudges him in the shoulder with two fingers, hoping to rouse him. “I can’t hear you.”

“Feelings.”

“...Of course you have feelings,” Scott says, “you’re a human person. I’m pretty sure all human people have feelings, except maybe sociopaths?”

“For you.”

If Scott was actually drinking something, he’d do one hell of a spit-take; as it stands, it feels like the breath’s been knocked out of him. ‘Floored’ is a good word for it. It shouldn’t come as a surprise- his self-esteem is mostly intact, if not his self-respect, and he knows that Wallace thinks he’s attractive, but the concept of something in his life actually going right is just unthinkable. He’s been drifting through the days like they’re nothing ever since the new year began, only tethered down by band practices and his burgeoning feelings. 

“Scott? Don’t leave me hangin’, guy,” Wallace says, voice partly obscured by his pillow.

“You’re not fucking with me, are you?” Scott asks. With a sinking feeling, he discovers something about himself: he doesn’t trust people to love him. Not after Envy. It’s an unpleasant realization, to say the least, and he chokes down the urge to forget this ever happened.

Wallace sits up, movements slow and groggy. “Of course I’m not fucking with you. Why would I fuck with you? I’m not…” He pauses. “Whatever.”

Scott groans at the implication. “Don’t remind me.” 

“Sorry. Will you give me an answer, or am I going to have to repress this memory?”

Scott takes a deep breath in and lets it out in a sigh. Screw it- Wallace has never given him any reason to distrust him, even if he’s a little hard on him sometimes. If that’s his most grievous offense, it _must_ be okay to have faith in him, right? “I have feelings for you, too,” he says finally. “A lot of them.”

Wallace stares at him for a few seconds longer before a grin breaks out on his face; his eyes are as half-lidded as he is half-cut, but from what Scott can see, there’s something warm in them, something that makes his chest ache. “Kiss me,” he says, and Scott swallows sharply.

His lips are inches away from Wallace’s when a bolt of guilt strikes him. “Wait, I can’t,” he says. “You’re drunk. That’s creepy.” As much as he wants to kiss Wallace, and as desperate as he is for any sort of love and affection, he still has a partially working moral compass.

Wallace laughs in his face; his breath smells harshly of gin and vermouth. “You’ve chosen now to not be weird?”

“Tomorrow,” Scott promises, and means it more than anything he’s ever said. “First thing in the morning. Just… sleep it off, okay?”

Wallace sighs and allows himself to fall back onto the futon. “Alright, fine,” he says. “You’d better.”

“I will, okay? Now, go to bed. Fast travel.” 

It’s only by the time Wallace falls asleep that Scott realizes just how much he wants him to hold him. For now, all he can do is stare at his eyelashes and slightly parted lips and think that maybe, _maybe_ things will turn out right this time.

## ix. love, melting

Wallace isn’t quite hungover when he wakes up, but the light that presses down on him from the ceiling lamp still isn’t the most pleasant thing in the world to his eyes. He narrows them into it, staring at a spot a few feet away from it and counting the bumps that are scattered there like so many stars, and waits for his vision to focus again. The smell of the bacon and eggs Scott’s cooking up keeps him-

Oh, shit.

“Scott?” Wallace asks, voice cracking midway through the word. He opens his eyes fully and glances over toward the kitchen, where he can see Scott, though he’s mostly obscured by the bar.

There’s an eight-months-pregnant pause before Scott answers. “...Wallace?” His voice is hesitant, but not cold; there’s no lack of warmth there, but there’s something holding him back. Probably the fact that Wallace confessed his stupid, ridiculous, irrational feelings to him the night before. Great!

“Uh.” Wallace isn’t exactly sure what he was going to say in the first place, so, swallowing his pride, he mumbles a weak, “...Hi?”

“Hi, Wallace.” Scott’s answer is quicker this time, less stunted, but still awkward. “I’m, uh, making bacon and eggs if you want any.”

“Yeah,” Wallace says, “I can smell it.” Despite everything, the corner of his mouth ticks up into a smile. “Can I have some?”

“I _did_ just offer. Come and get it,” Scott says, and the lack of him saying some dumb shit is almost concerning. Sure, there’s nothing particularly _wrong_ with it, but the ambiance is all off. 

Wallace’s face falls again. With a heavy sigh, half from tiredness and half from apprehension, he sits up, stretching his tired arms in front of him with a small grunt. When he stands up, he drags a hand through his thick, dark hair, then stalks with great reluctance over to the bar. As Scott finishes the bacon and fishes out a few strips from the pan for him, Wallace says, “...So.”

“So,” Scott agrees, handing him the plate of bacon.

Wallace takes a piece of bacon- cooked to perfection; for all of Scott’s flaws, he’s not a half bad chef- and chews it diligently before swallowing, taking his sweet time thinking of something to say. “If I recall correctly,” he says finally, “I said something very important last night that may have changed your opinion of me.”

“This is true."

“...And?” Wallace presses. If Scott’s going to cut him off, he needs to be quick, like pulling a Band-Aid off or slicing his head off with a guillotine. It’ll hurt, of course, but he can take it, if Scott doesn’t drag it out like a dick and lord it over him.

“Do you remember how I reacted?” Scott asks, and, to Wallace’s complete and utter disbelief, there’s a smile on his face, something entirely too tender for him to handle when he’s just woken up. “...Tell me you do.”

“I don’t really,” Wallace answers. “I just remember telling you.”

Scott’s expression turns sheepish, and he scratches the back of his head in what seems to be a nervous tic. “So you don’t remember when I almost kissed you? I’m wounded.” He gives an awkward chuckle, which is _also_ too much for Wallace to handle.

Something clicks in his mind, then- what Scott’s said has finally set in. “You did _what?”_ he asks after a second. His heart would be doing circus tricks in his chest right now if he wasn’t so nervous. It’s not like he has a low self-esteem by any means, so why is he so surprised that Scott’s into him?

“I almost kissed you,” Scott says, more confidence in his voice this time. “But you were drunk, and I’m not scummy.”

“You’re a little scummy,” Wallace manages to say.

“Not _that_ scummy.” Scott evidently remembers the bacon at this point, because he grabs a strip from the now-cooling pan and sticks the end in his mouth. Around it, he asks, “And if I’m so scummy, why do you looove me?”

“I don’t remember saying I _love_ you,” Wallace says, attempting to salvage some of his dignity.

“Then you liiiike me.” Scott’s voice is, of course, muffled by the bacon, and there’s this dumb look on his face that makes Wallace wonder why he _does_ like him so much. 

“Because you’re hot,” he answers, which doesn’t even scratch the surface of it all, but it _is_ true, to be fair. “Despite the scumminess.”

“What, so you only like me because I’m hot!? I’m not just a piece of ass!” Scott retorts. He licks the bacon grease off his fingers while glaring at Wallace. “Next you’ll be calling me a himbo.”

“Scott, you know I love you-” well, he _certainly_ does now- “but you are. You _are_ a himbo.”

Scott scoffs. “Whatever.”

There’s a longer silence, then, between the two of them; they’d fallen into the usual smooth rhythm of banter, but the elephant in the room has quite suddenly made an appearance again.

“...So,” Wallace says, cracking the quiet into splinters with one hesitant word. “If I’m into you, and you almost kissed me…”

“Then we should, uh, probably…” Scott taps his fingertips on the bar in a wave a couple times, then begins to ask, “Can I-”

Before Scott can finish the question, Wallace leans over the bar, places a hand on his cheek, and presses their lips together, effectively silencing him. Scott remains frozen for a few moments before he kisses back, and honestly, it’s not half bad. For some reason, Wallace was expecting Scott to not be that great of a kisser- not that he hadn’t thought about situations where he was- but actually, it’s pretty good, even if he does taste a little like bacon.

Scott’s the one to break away first, blinking as he brings up a finger to scratch at his cheek. “...Well, congrats,” he says. “That was my first kiss with a guy. You took my gay kissginity.”

Wallace rests his elbow on the bar, placing his chin in one cupped hand. “Well, was it everything you’ve ever hoped for?” he asks, eyes half-lidded. His casualness is all a sham, of course; he’s just kissed the guy he’s been pining over for ages, who happens to be the first guy he’s properly pined over in years, and who _also_ happens to be his close friend and roommate. It’s an exhilarating feeling, and even now, his heartbeat is still quicker than usual.

“It was pretty good, yeah,” Scott says, and breaks out into a smile that has Wallace’s heart feeling like a stuttering car engine. “...I’d do it again, if you want me to.”

“If I want you to?” Wallace can’t help but laugh at that. “Of course I want you to. We can do it again right now.”

“Not to sound desperate,” Scott says, sounding desperate, “but if I don’t do it again right now, I think I’m gonna pass out.”

“Then get over here, guy.”

Scott obeys in a heartbeat; for a moment, Wallace is afraid he’ll try to jump over the bar, but instead, he walks around it. Either way, his lips are on Wallace’s in a matter of seconds, where they were seemingly always meant to be.

## x. but you don’t succeed

“Well,” Scott says, peering at the computer screen, “I didn’t pass my classes.” He takes a deep breath in and exhales a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Which means I’m probably not going to graduate.” He pauses. “By which I mean… I’m not going to graduate.” He slumps forward and rests his forehead on the keyboard, typing something akin to “jmknkkkkkk” into the address bar.

Wallace closes the magazine he’d been reading- some trashy tabloid he’d probably picked up on impulse at the grocery store- and gets off the futon, instead taking a seat next to Scott and pressing their bodies together. “Well,” he says, “you did your best. Right?”

Scott lifts his head, staring at the screen again, where Fs stare damningly back at him. “I guess,” he says. “But my best wasn’t good enough, apparently.” It’s not like he usually gets straight As, but it would’ve been nice to actually graduate. He groans, then asks, “Do I _have_ to sign up for another semester? I give up, man.”

Wallace sighs in return, leaning away momentarily so he can bring an arm up to rub Scott’s back. “I mean, you probably _should,”_ he says. “Can’t do shit without a degree.”

Scott scowls. “And, like… I wouldn’t have been able to graduate anyway, because I dropped those stupid classes and didn’t even _think_ about it…” He puts his head in his hands for a moment, curling his fingers into his hair. “I gotta say, this year is an unmitigated disaster thus far,” he mumbles, lips brushing against his palms. 

When Scott raises his head again, Wallace turns it toward him with a hand on his cheek and says, “Look, guy, it’s okay. Not everyone graduates in four years.” It’s not much, especially since Scott knows Wallace graduated perfectly on time himself, but it’s something.

“Uh-huh,” he says, voice low and defeated. “Maybe university just… isn’t right for me. I mean, the world needs more burger flippers and… and… do you need a degree to be a janitor?”

“I don’t think so. Plus, you’d look hot in the uniform,” Wallace says.

For the first time since he looked at his grades, Scott cracks a smile, small though it may be, and knocks his shoulder against Wallace’s. “Gee, thanks. Having fun objectifying me?”

“Loads.”

“Cool.” Scott leans in for a kiss, finding himself at least a little soothed when he catches Wallace’s lips. He resists the urge to make it deeper after a few moments; instead, he pulls away and asks, “So, what should we do on graduation night?” Hey, if he’s going to be a failure, he may as well have fun with it instead of subjecting himself to copious amounts of jealousy. 

“Don’t you have friends who are graduating?” Wallace asks.

“Nobody I’m that close with,” Scott answers with a shrug. “We could have, like, a romantic night in. Watch some shitty action movies, y’know, pop some popcorn…” He smiles for a moment, delighted at the thought of spending a night with the person he’s oh so enamored with, but it falls when he glances toward the computer screen again. 

“Let’s just, um, exit out of that,” Wallace says, leaning over to close out of the window. “Just forget about it, okay? There’s nothing you can do now.”

Scott heaves a sigh, then says, “I mean, I _guess.”_ When he turns back to Wallace, though, he finds his lips in an instant, and Wallace isn’t one to let up when Scott’s in a bad mood. It’s pretty awesome, and he finds that his troubles, if only momentarily, are far behind him.

## xi. put ‘em in quotations

The TV’s burst into life, Scott’s curled up with him, and Wallace is perfectly content. Of course, there's the faint reminder of the reason they're doing this that bites at the back of his mind, but Scott doesn't seem too distressed about it, so… things aren’t _too_ bad, are they?

“Hey, this guy’s pretty hot,” Scott remarks. He’s lying sideways in the fetal position, resting his head on Wallace’s chest with an arm slung over his midsection. “You chose a good movie.”

“What, so that’s the deciding factor of a good movie? How hot the leading actor is?” Wallace laughs, which has Scott laughing in a few moments. After studying the main character’s face, though, he has to concede that point. “I’d agree,” he says, “but you’re in the room.”

“Aww, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“No, the nicest thing I’ve ever said to you is…” Wallace pauses. “Um, do I say nice things to you?”

“You’re more of a pep talk guy than a love letter guy,” Scott says. “I mean, I don’t _mind,_ though.”

“Well, I mind,” Wallace says, and searches for the remote with one hand, eventually happening upon it. He pauses the movie and adds, “Do you _want_ me to say nice things to you?” He could do that. He could definitely do that! It’s not like he wouldn’t mean it, because he cares for Scott a frankly stupid amount. But what could he even say? What could even begin to scratch the surface of it?

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t be opposed,” Scott says, tracing his fingers along Wallace’s side. “Like, okay. Can I be needy for a second?”

“Anytime.”

“Cool, cool.” Scott pauses for a moment, then continues his movements. “What do you like about me? Nobody’s told me that in a long time.”

“Okay. Um…” Wallace wracks his brain for any idea of what to say. “Well, first of all, I love your face.”

“What? My face?” Scott laughs, then adjusts his position so his back is to the now-silent TV. His hair is long enough by now to tuck behind his ear, and he does so, which is also very, very good/bad for Wallace’s heart.

He doesn’t mention it, though; as much as he’d like to, the whole hair thing seems like a sensitive issue for Scott, even though Wallace likes it long. “Yeah, your face,” he says instead, and places a hand on his cheek, gracing his cheekbone with a long swoop of his thumb. “And you’re funny. Like, you always know what to say to make me laugh, even when I don’t really feel like laughing at all.”

Scott gives a cocky smirk, saying, “Aw, hey, I do what I can.”

That grin gets to Wallace, too. He’s never been this lovestruck; it would verge on annoying if it didn’t feel so good. “Well, you do a lot,” he says. He moves his hand to Scott’s hair, running his fingers through it without any comment. That seems to be safe. “And… you’re endearingly nerdy.”

“Hey, I take offense to that!” Scott says, though it’s followed by a snort of laughter. “And you play video games, too.”

“Not as much as you,” Wallace points out. “I don’t know. It’s just a lot of things. You’re nice, mostly, which sorta goes well with my…”

“Being kind of a bitch?”

It’s Wallace’s turn to put on a smug smile. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” 

“And a little gossipy.”

“Also a compliment.”

“Hm.” Scott huffs a laugh. “Well, _I_ like that you’re sort of a bastard, y’know? Like… you’re mean to me, but in a fun way. Normally when people are mean to me it’s just kind of annoying.”

Wallace rolls his eyes- it’s pretty obvious who he’s talking about, and her name starts with J and ends with Ulie. “Right. Well, I’m glad to have the privilege of being mean to you.” And it _is_ a privilege; sure, Scott isn’t perfect- far from it, in fact- but he’s attractive, he’s nice to be around, and he makes his chest ache in just the right way. “So,” he says, “is this better than graduation?”

Scott’s face falls at the reminder, and Wallace immediately regrets it, but then it picks right back up. “Y’know?” he says. “It kind of is. And hey, there’s always next semester.”

“Always next semester, yeah,” Wallace says. “...Do you wanna keep watching?”

“Actually, I kinda wanna make out.”

“That works, too.”

## xii. saying it out loud is hard

Wallace isn’t the type to throw around the L Word lightly in romantic contexts. He’s been telling Scott he loves him in a platonic sense for ages, so why, he muses one night as he watches the rise and fall of Scott’s chest as he sleeps, is it so hard to tell him now? He’s held his hand, taken him out on dates, done… well. Plenty of things with him; not to mention, they’ve been together for a good four months. He should be able to say it.

“I... love you,” he murmurs nigh inaudibly, testing out how it feels on his tongue and lips. “I love you. I love-” Wallace cuts himself off as Scott begins to shift, breathing speeding up into a wakening pace.

Scott yawns, then stretches, cursing under his breath as his hand hits the wall. “Ow,” he says, more of a mutter than anything, and shakes it up and down a few times.

“Why’re you up?” Wallace asks, verging on concerned. When Scott wakes up in the middle of the night, it’s never good. “Did you have another dream?”

Scott sighs and opens his eyes finally, staring up at the ceiling. “Not sure, but I don’t feel all that bad,” he says after a few moments. “I don’t know. I thought I heard you talking, though. And I could ask you the same thing.”

Oh, shit. If Scott head him talking… could he have made out the words? How mortifying. “Don’t know,” Wallace says, which is sort of the truth. Usually, he’d have conked out long before- he has work in the morning, after all- but his damn emotions have got him feeling like he’s been turned inside out, heart thumping on the outside of his chest. There’s no way he could get to sleep like that, but _why_ is it bothering him so much?

Scott hums as he acknowledges Wallace’s apparent lack of knowledge. “Okay, well, maybe we should try to get back to sleep. I’m _tired.”_ Seemingly to emphasize the fact, he yawns, which is somehow endearing to Wallace. He’s really on his gay shit tonight, apparently. 

Speaking of- there’s something nestled deep in Wallace’s chest that screams at him to just _tell_ him, tell Scott that he loves him. It’s three stupid little words, and he probably already knows, so where’s the danger in saying it? Still, the words come after a considerable amount of hesitation. “Hey, Scott?”

Scott had closed his eyes, but now he opens them, looking toward the ceiling again. “Mhm?”

“Look at me,” Wallace says, and reaches out to place a hand on Scott’s far cheek, turning his head toward him. When he does, though, and the two make eye contact, Wallace averts his gaze, unable to look Scott in the eyes when he says what he does. “I… love you,” he continues, suddenly so loud in the silent room.

When Wallace glances back at Scott, his heart drops. Scott looks almost _scared,_ as if the simple act of Wallace voicing his feelings has him wanting to run. “...I love you, too,” he says, and swallows sharply. There’s a wobbly half-smile on his face, which is the only thing keeping Wallace from losing his mind, frankly.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and is caught between running his thumb along Scott’s cheekbone and removing his hand altogether. Instead, he does nothing.

“Um.” Scott clears his throat, then nods. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… tired.”

“...Okay,” Wallace says, and smiles in what he hopes is a disarming manner. “Get back to sleep.” He leans in for a kiss, and Scott kisses back, though there’s not quite as much of a spark as there usually is. He steels himself for a tiring day at work, because there’s no way he’ll get back to sleep now.

## xiii. i’m also fucking scared

Logically, Scott should be over the goddamn moon. His boyfriend’s just told him he loves him, which is, of course, heartwarming. And he loves him back! He really does. But it’s the first time he’s heard it romantically in around nine months, and, while it sounds like it’d be a relief, a cause for celebration, it really isn’t. 

When Scott wakes up the morning after Wallace tells him, he’s already at work; that’s probably for the best. He lies, motionless, on the futon, counting the bumps and ridges on the ceiling that he’s grown so accustomed to staring up at. There’s an ache in his chest for no good reason, one that threatens to spill out into his limbs; he’d been free from it briefly, but he’s never going to be able to escape it fully, is he?

Finally, after a good two hours of moping around and drifting in and out of sleep, Scott sits up, stretches his lead-heavy arms, and pulls himself out of bed. The events of the night before won’t stop going through his head- Wallace’s voice, so soft, so well-meaning; the gentle pressure of his hand on his cheek; all of it. He’d normally be hesitant to say such a thing out loud, but if nobody’s around, there’s no harm in asking to the silent room, “Why can’t I be happy, dammit?”

Wallace arrives home at 5:30 sharp; Scott stiffens as his ears pick up the sound of the key in the lock. It occurs to him that he’s zoned out for basically the entire day; the games on his phone apparently kept him afloat, if the low battery is anything to go by. He closes the phone with a snap and looks over at the door just as Wallace steps inside; he’s not looking as he sets his bag down by the door, but, when he glances over at Scott, he sighs. “Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” Scott says in return, scratching at one of his palms. “Um…”

“Look, I’m sorry about last night.” Wallace approaches the bar, which Scott’s leaning against. “I don’t know. Maybe I shouldn’t have said it so soon. You seem pretty freaked out.”

“It’s not that,” Scott says. “I meant what I said. I do… love you.” He swallows, mouth having gone dry in what feels like just an instant. Why is it so hard to say? Why can’t he just spit it out? Why does he have to be this _damaged?_ “I just. Um.”

“You just…?”

Scott heaves a sigh. He doesn’t want to talk about this out loud- he’d rather drop dead, actually- but for the sake of their relationship… “The last person to tell me that was Envy,” he explains. “And look what happened with her.”

A look of understanding crosses Wallace’s face. “Oh, shit.”

“Yeah. Shit.” Scott runs a hand through his hair and clenches his fist around a tuft of it. “And, like… I know you won’t do me dirty like that, but it’s _hard,_ y’know?” Every word makes him want to vomit, just like he did the night she dumped him. That’s what he remembers most: the vomiting.

“Right,” Wallace says. His face softens, and he places a hand on Scott’s shoulder, rubbing it with one thumb. “Look, guy, I get it. I mean… I don’t _get it_ get it, but it looks like she really fucked you up, huh?”

“Probably more than anyone else on this dumb shitty planet,” Scott mutters, resentment bubbling up in his chest at the thought of it. “Believe me, I wish I wasn’t this messed up from it.”

“I trust you.” Wallace sighs again, lets his hand drop away. “Look, Scott, you might not be exactly the same person you were when we met…”

Scott’s heart drops- he doesn’t exactly need to be reminded of that. “Right.”

 _“But,”_ Wallace continues, “I’d be sort of a shit boyfriend if I didn’t support you through all your… I don’t know what to call it. You-ness.” 

“Oh. Cool.” That brings a smile to Scott’s face, and he exhales in utter relief. “Um… thank you.”

“Don’t sweat it,” Wallace says. “...Can I say it again?”

“That’s probably fine. I should get used to it.” 

“Sweet.” After a few moments of silence, Wallace takes Scott’s free hand- his phone is still held limply in his other- in his own and says, “I _love_ you.”

This time, Scott’s smile is genuine. Maybe he can let his guard down. Maybe it’ll be alright. “I love you, too,” he says, and it’s the most truthful thing he’s ever said.

## xiv. i’ll never throw you away

It’s not exactly a secret that Wallace isn’t a huge fan of Scott’s new band. Well, technically it’s Stephen Stills’ new band, but, for obvious reasons, he cares the most about Scott. Anyway, so he’s sitting at the bar at some seedy venue that’s somehow still open, and it’s Sex Bob-Omb’s first gig, so he’s grinning and bearing it like the wonderful boyfriend he is.

He’s sipping on a frozen black cherry daiquiri- gotta mix it up once in a while- when Stephen, Kim, and, most importantly, Scott walk out on the stage that’s barely big enough for them. They look a little nervous, especially Stephen; it’s understandable, because they haven’t performed outside of practice since the days of Kid Chameleon- even longer for Kim- but it still doesn’t bode well for them. Wallace whoops from the bar, putting as much vigor into it as he can muster, and takes another sip of his daiquiri.

Sex Bob-Omb aren’t terrible, he has to admit- they at least _sorta_ know what they’re doing. Wallace is more focused on Scott than anything, though; the way he jumps and stamps his feet as he plays, really getting into the music, is pretty endearing. There’s a warmth that settles in around his heart, and he has to look away once or twice for fear of being overcome. He’s well aware that his soft spot for Scott is a little too big.

The night winds down, and the set creeps ever toward its own end. Wallace had been turned away from the stage to give the bartender a tip, but when Scott starts to say something, he perks up and turns back.

“This one goes out to this person I know, who’s, uh…” Scott glances over to the bar, making eye contact with Wallace. “I think they’re pretty cool.” Wallace barely has a chance to smile at him before Kim’s counting them in, though, and Scott’s grabbing the mic, and the contact’s gone.

In all honestly, it’s not that good of a song- the lyrics are simple, and so is the tune. Still, the knowledge that Scott wrote this song for him (and he knows it’s Scott, because Stephen’s surprisingly good at lyrics) has him misty-eyed; he blinks his tears away, since he’d rather die than tear up around non-family, non-Scott people, but the feeling remains. For a whole two and a half minutes, his heart beats so warmly in his chest that he’s almost certain he could keel over just from the sheer love of it all. He’s had some decent boyfriends in the past, but nobody’s done anything like this for him.

When the song comes to an end, there’s only scattered applause, but Wallace is the loudest of all of them.

“So,” Scott says, securing his bass in its case, “what’d you think?”

Wallace, who’s been invited backstage, bursts into a smile. “It was amazing,” he says, which is true; while the music wasn’t really to his taste, the way it made him feel more than made up for it. “Nobody’s ever written a song about me, which is surprising.”

Scott snorts. “You can be so full of yourself,” he says, and knocks him in the shoulder (gently!) with one fist. “You’re coming with us for drinks, right?” There’s a flicker of something on his face, a hesitation; though he doesn’t mention it, it occurs to Wallace that Scott won’t be drinking.

“I’m already kinda tipsy,” he says, which is true; he spaced them out, but he had a few drinks, and it’s not like he’s a heavyweight. “I don’t know if I feel like drinking any more tonight. Come home with me?”

“Not like you to turn down a night of drinking,” Scott remarks, which is also true, but Wallace doesn’t want to leave Scott behind.

He shrugs. “I mean, if you want to stay, we can stay.”

“No, no, we can go home,” Scott;’s face brightens into a gentle smile. “That’d be nice.”

“Cool,” Wallace says, and pulls him in for a kiss.

## xv. i miss my lover, man

“Hey,” Wallace says, pulling Scott in by the front of his shirt, “I’m gonna miss you.” His breath is warm as he leans in to kiss him, and Scott tries to memorize the feeling, as if he’ll be gone forever and not just for a few days.

“I love you,” he says; it comes easier now, has him a little less on edge, and he means it, too. “And I’ll miss you too. Obviously.” He puts on a smile, but it’s a bit broken; it’s the first time they’ll have been apart for that long since they got together- since the whole thing with Envy went down, actually; Scott’s smile falters at the memory. 

“I love you, too. You’ll be fine without me,” Wallace assures him, as if he’s read his mind, and his expression softens. “I promise. You’ve been doing alright lately, right?”

Scott’s gotta give him (and himself) that. He hasn’t had a bad dream in a couple months- not the usual kind, at least- and the crying episodes stopped ages ago. “This is true,” he says, and the smile returns, more genuine this time. He’s about to say something more, something about missing him already, but then the bus pulls up and his words vanish from his mouth.

“Sorry, that’s for me,” Wallace says, and flashes him a smile that, to be fair, does look apologetic. “One more for the road?” Without waiting for an answer- Scott knows damn well that _he_ knows damn well that the answer is an enthusiastic ‘yes’- he pulls Scott in and kisses him, long and deep and hard.

“I love you,” Scott says again, but Wallace is already boarding the bus. He settles for a wave, which is, of course, reciprocated.

Day one goes fine. Scott hangs up his parka on his designated hook, noting mournfully the lack of Wallace’s coat next to it, and flops down in the easy chair, then turns on the TV and loses himself in mindless media intake. 

Day two goes alright as well. Scott calls Wallace at around seven, giving him enough time for both meetings and dinner, and they catch up- mostly Wallace catches Scott up on things, because Scott’s done nothing all day besides go to the arcade and buy some sushi with his own money for once. 

Day three, however, takes a dour turn. The apartment suddenly feels so big, and he feels so small; there’s an ache that lingers around his ribs and in his gut that clues him in on just how fragile he still is. He shouldn’t be like this, has no _reason_ to be like this, but then he hears a Clash at Demonhead song on the radio at the record store and freezes. Fight or flight mode kicks in, and he chooses to flee; Julie gives him an odd yet knowing look as he bolts, but he doesn’t pay her any mind.

“Wallace,” he breathes as soon as Wallace picks up after entirely too many rings, “I think I’m having a meltdown.” He swallows roughly.

 _“Hey, sorry, I was in a meeting,”_ Wallace says. _“What's going on?”_ There’s a definite tone of concern in his voice, which soothes Scott, at least a little.

“I don’t know,” he says, and leans back against the store’s window. He’s probably breaking some loitering law or another, but he doesn’t really care right now. The cool glass against his back is the only thing- besides Wallace, of course- that’s keeping him sane. “I, um. I guess I just got to missing you, and then TCaD was playing on the radio while I was _trying_ to buy a Beck album…”

 _“Oh.”_ There’s a shuffling noise on the other end. _“Um, well, first of all, fuck Envy.”_

“You’ve said that many, many times.”

 _“Well, I’m still right,”_ Wallace says, which is true. Scott’s gotten to the point where he mostly resents Envy more than anything- more than he loves her, anyway. But he doesn’t want to think about that latter part right now. _“I wish I could do more, I just… um. Do you have water?”_

Scott shakes his head, then, upon realizing he’s making a fool of himself, says, “Um, no. Should i get some?”

_“It seems to help.”_

Fortunately, there’s a corner store a couple hundred yards away. _Un_ fortunately, Scott’s in no position to talk to anyone besides Wallace. “Uh… okay. How do I do that, again?” he asks, absolutely mortified that he has to. It’s like all his upper brain functioning has been turned off; he can make words fine, but if someone asked him about something or had him make a decision, he’s almost certain he’d just shut down. 

_“Oh.”_ Wallace is silent for a few moments. _“You’re at the record shop, right? There’s that corner store near there.”_

“Right.”

_“Should I walk you through it?”_

“Um.” As embarrassing as it is, that _would_ be pretty nice. Scott’s pretty sure he could at least somewhat manage it on his own, but Wallace always helps. “Yeah, I guess?”

 _“Okay,”_ Wallace says. _“Can you get to the store?”_

“Probably,” Scott says, and forces his feet to _move,_ dammit. Luckily, they do, and he manages to get to the corner store and open the door, which jingles. The cashier looks up from her newspaper- it’s not a very busy corner store- and then down again. 

_“Are you in?”_

“Uh-huh.”

_“Okay. The water’s by the, ah, the soft drinks, right?”_

Scott grimaces- soft drinks aren’t his favorite; he’s not a huge fan of the carbonation- but goes to find the clear refrigerators anyway. His eyes flit around the fridge, never settling on anything, the beverages a blurred mix of brown and red and blue. “Wallace?” he asks.

_“Yeah, Scott?”_

“Um, I can’t… I can’t find it. Like, I’m right here, but I can’t focus on anything.”

 _“Take a few deep breaths,”_ Wallace instructs, and Scott obeys, inhaling for four seconds, holding for another four, and exhaling until he’s counted to twelve in total, then repeating it a few times. It’s an old trick someone taught him once; he can’t remember who. His mom, maybe? _“Does that help?”_ Wallace asks, and Scott tunes back in to the conversation.

Scott re-focuses and looks at the fridge before him. He finds that, yes, he can discern drinks from each other a bit better; he manages to grab a mineral water from the left side. “Yeah, I’ve got it,” he says. 

_“Cashier next,”_ Wallace says. _“Can you handle that?”_

“Um, yeah, I think so,” Scott says, and, as it turns out, his mind _is_ stabilizing. Turns out he just needed someone to talk to before it escalated, and who better than Wallace? “I’ve got it from here, I guess. Plus, you’ve got that meeting...”

 _“I’ll stay on the line if you want me to stay on the line,”_ Wallace says. 

“No, no, I’m fine, I’ve got it. Just…” Scott pauses. “Um, I love you. It’s a stupid time to say it, but.”

 _“No stupid time to say it,”_ Wallace says, and laughs, which brings Scott back to reality just a bit more. _“I love you, too. ...Should I hang up?”_

“Yeah, I guess,” Scott says. “Bye, Wallace.”

_“Yeah, bye.”_

And the line goes dead. Scott checks out, drinks his water; the day turns around.

Wallace returns to Toronto two days later, catching Scott at about nine in the morning. “Guess who’s home?” he calls as soon as he steps in the door, at which point Scott groggily brings himself to a sitting position.

“Wallace, hey,” he says, a sleepy smile spreading across his features. “Missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” Wallace replies, and slides under the covers with him, despite presumably having slept the previous night. He slings an arm over Scott and pulls him close, earning him a laugh.

“Someone’s affectionate,” he says, which isn’t to say he minds even in the slightest.

“What? I haven’t touched another human being in, like, five days.” He catches Scott’s lips in a kiss before he can reply, then breaks away after a few seconds. “Good to see you didn’t burn everything down. I knew I could trust you.”

“Why would I- ugh, you’re the _worst.”_ Still, Scott’s laughing, and then Wallace is, too, and things are pretty nice in each other’s arms on their futon in their apartment. “I love you,” he says, like it’s the easiest thing on Earth.

“I love you, too.”

## xvi. this house is falling apart

It’s unfair that Envy had to dump him unceremoniously on what’s supposed to be one of the funnest nights of the year, in Scott’s humble opinion. He turns the thought over and over again in his head like a mantra all day long, alongside, of course, various other Envy-related thoughts. For example, the question he’d been asking himself and anyone who would listen for the past 365 days: Why did she change? 

Except, Scott muses to himself as he opens the door to the shared apartment- except, he’s with Wallace now, and that _should_ make everything better. And it does help! He’s not entirely certain what he’d do without him. But it’s not quite-

“Surprise!”

A cheer rouses Scott from his thoughts, making him start in shock. His muscles tense for a moment before he catches sight of the source: Wallace, leaning against the bar. Grouped around him are Kim, Stephen, and Neil; no sign of Envy. (Why would Envy have been there anyway? Why would he think that?)

“God, you scared the shit outta me,” Scott breathes, hanging his coat on its designated hook. “And it’s not even my birthday…”

“Who says a surprise party has to be for a birthday?” Wallace asks after taking a sip of his drink, which Scott hadn’t noticed at first. “Plus, I figured you might need some cheering up.”

“Yeah,” Kim says, “you didn’t respond to any of my texts.”

“You sent me texts?” Scott tilts his head, frowning.

“No, but I know you wouldn’t have responded if I had.”

Scott blinks. “...Okay, whatever. I’ll be fine, okay?” He pauses for a few moments, but finally smiles. “Thanks, though. ...You guys really came over here instead of going clubbing or whatever? Or, like, spending it with your _families?”_ His face lights up in a way that Wallace has described as ‘cute’ many a time, which is actually the first he’d smiled since that morning, when Wallace ruffled up his hair on the way out of the apartment. 

“Sure did,” Kim says. “Whether or not we’ll regret it is up to you.”

“Jeez, alright.” After shuffling his feet a bit to brush off the snow, Scott haphazardly kicks off his boots and approaches the others. “Wallace, do we have any gin? I figure it’s a special enough occasion to have _one_ G&T,” he says with a shrug. “It’s not like I’m a recovering alcoholic or anything.”

“Hey, it’s your party.” Pushing past Neil, who steps out of the way after some prompting, Wallace grabs the gin and tonic from one of the cupboards and a glass from another. “But _be responsible.”_

After one gin and tonic, Scott’s mostly fine- or, at least, as fine as he can be under the circumstances. After two, he feels a little down, especially when Kim mentions an ex-girlfriend of hers offhandedly. After three, he’s having the mood drop to end all mood drops, which is a harsh reminder of why his no-drinking “rule” exists in the first place.

“I gotta go,” he mutters in the middle of a conversation with Stephen and Neil, and stalks with his hands shoved in his pockets toward the bathroom. 

“Thanks for the info, I really appreciate it,” Stephen calls after him; Scott barely hears.

“Whatever.” He pushes the door closed, nearly slamming it in the process, and slumps against it. The tile is cool, even freezing, against his palms; it keeps him grounded, even though the rest of his body and mind feel like they’re miles away. He takes a deep breath in, holds it, lets it out in a sigh. Idly, his eyes focus on the wall across from him- dingy, with a small dent in it from a previous tenant that had never gotten fixed by their landlord. 

Scott’s not entirely certain how long he’s been in the bathroom, just staring and breathing shallowly, but Wallace is there all of a sudden, knocking on the door. “Scott?” he asks. “You okay in there, guy?”

Scott doesn’t answer, finding himself unable to speak for a moment. When he finally speaks up, his affect is flat, nearing robotic. “I don’t know,” he answers truthfully. He’s probably _not_ okay, but he’s not comatose, so he must be fine to a degree.

There’s silence for a few moments on Wallace’s end. Then, muffled by the door, he says, “Party’s over, everyone.”

“But-”

“I said, the party’s over, Neil. C’mon, get out.” After a few more seconds, or maybe minutes: “Hey. Can I come in?”

Scott nods, then, realizing his folly, answers, “Yeah.” He scoots away from the door just in time for Wallace to open it. There’s barely enough room for the two of them; Scott’s never been claustrophobic- at least, not claustrophobic enough to hate elevators and the like- but even he can admit it’s a bit uncomfortable. Still, he’d rather be here with Wallace than without.

Wallace nudges Scott with one foot, and he presses himself against the cabinet beneath the sink to make room for him. Scott hadn’t noticed at first- how many things is he going to miss today?- but Wallace is clutching a blanket in one hand; he drapes it over his shoulders, lending him a faint bit of warmth.

“So,” Wallace says as he settles down next to him, legs crossed over each other, “tell me what happened.”

“I don’t know,” Scott says, dragging his hands down his face. “Got tipsy. Thought about… y’know. Had a mood swing.” He shrugs. “I don’t know _why_ I’m still so upset about it. Like, it’s been a _year.”_

“I don’t know. Maybe you’re traumatized,” Wallace says, and Scott’s not sure whether it’s meant to be a joke or not, but it sounds about right.

“Yeah, maybe,” he says. “I don’t know. She’s just… in my head today.”

“The girl’s a demon, Scott. Absolute hellspawn. Don’t waste your mental energy on her.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” Scott says, prickling. “It’s not like I can help it. I think… I _think…”_

“...You think what?” Wallace presses.

“I think I’m still in love with her.”

Wallace’s face falls. “You’re still in love with her.”

“I don’t know. Maybe?” Scott says, and it feels like every ounce of himself has left his body, like he’s light as a feather. “I don’t _want_ to be.”

“I’m sure.” Wallace taps his fingers on his knee, resting his head in one propped-up hand. “...So, where does that leave me?”

As he comes to understand the weight of what he’s said, Scott swallows roughly, his whole body tensing for the second time that night. “Shit,” he hisses under his breath. “Wallace, I’m still- I mean, I love you, you _know_ that.” He takes a shuddering breath in, and, to his dismay, tears prick at his eyes like sewing needles.

“I love you, too,” Wallace says, but the tone of his voice makes Scott doubt it a little. “I just wish I didn’t have to share you with your ex-girlfriend.”

“I do too, okay?” Scott says, and takes another shaky breath. “I wish- I wish things could be any other way. _Please_ don’t break up with me…”

“I’m… not going to break up with you, Scott.” Wallace sighs. “Just let me think about this, okay? I mean, up until today, you were calling her a massive bitch and stuff. I thought for sure you were over your feelings for her. But what do I know?”

“I thought I was, too,” Scott says. “I _want_ to be. I’ll make it my new year’s resolution.” His attempt to bring levity of the situation doesn’t really work- there’s no smile on Wallace’s face.

“Okay, well. You do that.” Wallace pats Scott’s knee, then stands up and heads for the door.

“Wait, where are you going?” Scott asks, shifting around so he’s turned toward Wallace. “I need you.”

Wallace sighs, runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. I need to process, alright? I mean, you kinda dropped a bomb on me, guy. You can call Stacey or something if you really need someone.”

“Okay,” Scott says, defeated. “That’s fine.” It’s _not_ fine, but even he can admit that he sorta fucked things up there, so it’s only natural that Wallace would be upset.

Despite everything, Wallace’s voice is soft when he says, “Goodnight, Scott.”

“Yeah,” Scott says, “goodnight, Wallace.”

## xvii. only a real man can be a lover

Wallace doesn’t really want to come home. Things have been tense at the apartment, to nobody’s surprise; ever since Scott admitted to still being in love with Envy, they’ve barely spoken to each other. It’s a little more than awkward to sleep in the same bed(dish thing). And the thing is, it’s certainly not that he _wants_ it to be like this, he doesn’t _want_ to be hurt, he just… can’t quite deal with it. Not yet.

He stares at the door for a good long while before approaching it, sticking the key in the hole and praying that Scott’s out somewhere with Stephen or whatever. However, when he opens the door a hair, he notes that Scott’s in the easy chair, strumming his acoustic guitar and humming a barely-audible tune. Wallace sighs- hopefully too quiet for Scott to hear- and shuts the door behind him when he steps inside; the one nice thing about being in this place is that it’s a haven away from the biting cold outside. 

Scott looks up at him for a brief moment, then averts his gaze, staring toward the bathroom door that’s been left ajar for some reason. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Wallace says, voice curt, as he hangs up his coat and scarf. He deposits his shoes near the door, a stark contrast from that night he came stumbling home and kicked them across the floor; he’s never felt more sober.

There’s a moment where Wallace thinks Scott is about to say something, but he doesn’t; instead, he keeps strumming the guitar. He must be writing a new song for his band, which is odd, because to Wallace’s knowledge, Scott’s sort of a shitty lyricist. Maybe he’s only writing the instrumentals.

And then, about an hour after Wallace gets home- most of which was spent reading some shitty novel he’d checked out in the checkout lane at the grocery store to laugh at the shitty heterosexual writing- Scott speaks up. “Wallace?” he asks simply.

“...Yes, Scott?” Wallace doesn’t look up from his book, where he’s been reading the same paragraph over and over again for the past five minutes. 

“I have something I want to say. Or...” Scott rubs the back of his neck. “Sing, actually.”

Holding back a sigh, Wallace dog-ears his book and sets it aside. Looking up at Scott, who’s got a decidedly nervous look on his face, he says, “Go ahead.” He doesn’t mention that he hates Scott’s music. 

Scott clears his throat, then, closing his eyes, begins to strum. _“Can we stop pretending we hate each other? Don’t wanna fight over her…”_

They’re simple lyrics, nothing like Stephen’s. Wallace sort of appreciates it, alongside the acoustic guitar that so sharply contrasts the usual crunchy bass. 

Scott’s voice is surprisingly gentle for someone in a rock band. _“We’re too strong, you and I, to not give this another try.”_ He chews the inside of his cheek for a second, hand stilling, then says, “And then I had a line that ended with ‘months’, but I couldn’t think of a word that rhymes with ‘months’, except ‘once’ if I wanted to sing with a lisp for some reason.”

For the first time in days, Wallace laughs at what Scott’s said. “Who only sings with a lisp?”

“Well, I asked myself that, too,” Scott says, “which is why I scrapped the months idea. But I couldn’t wait to finish the whole song, because…” He glances away. “I don’t know. I miss you, okay?”

Wallace considers it. He misses Scott too, dearly, and what they had before this little bump in the road; still, he’s deeply wounded. He knows he shouldn’t be, because it’s not as if Scott can _help_ still being in love with Envy, and it’s probably harder on him than it is on Wallace. “I miss you, too,” he says after a moment of thought. Then, with a little smirk, he adds, “I certainly miss the sex.”

“You suck,” Scott says, but chuckles anyway. He continues to smile for a few more seconds before his face falls into something more somber. “I don’t know what to do to fix this, but… I’m trying to get over her, alright? I promise.” He gives Wallace a pleading look, which didn’t work the first million times, but- perhaps it’s because it’s so serious- manages to tug his heartstrings now. 

Wallace worries his lip, then sighs. “So… here’s the deal. I think we’re gonna be fine.”

Scott inhales sharply, and the grip he uses to clutch the guitar tightens as his expression brightens. “Thank you,” he says. “A-and I’ll pick up the groceries next time, and I can take you to that sushi place you like, it’s on me-”

“Wait,” Wallace interrupts, stemming the flow of word vomit. He’s _about_ to say that Scott doesn’t need to do any of that, but after a few moments, he reconsiders. “That’d actually be pretty nice, thank you, Scott. Just… make sure you make good on the self-improvement part, okay? New year, new Envy-angst-free you.”

“I will.” Scott sets the guitar aside, leaning it against the side of the easy chair. His grin settles into a gentle smile, and, after standing up, he stretches and approaches the futon. He flops down next to Wallace, staring up at the ceiling. “...Thanks,” he says. “For forgiving me.”

“It’s not like I wanted to be hurt or anything,” Wallace says, and picks his book back up again to reread that paragraph and hopefully absorb it this time. “Look, let’s just forget about this, okay?” He’d never admit it, but baring his heart puts him on edge, even though it’s so easy to listen to Scott do it.

“I can do that,” Scott says, and huffs a laugh. He sits up, propping himself up on his hands, and turns to Wallace, asking, “Can I…?”

It takes a second for Wallace to understand, but he soon catches on. “Oh. Go for it.”

“Cool.” Scott shifts so he’s sitting closer to Wallace, then turns his face toward him; Wallace’s face splits into a grin as Scott presses their lips together- gently at first, then deeper and deeper until Wallace finally pulls away.

“I love you,” he says, and the words still have some tension behind them, some uncertainty, but suddenly, he means it more than ever.

## xviii. why have you come?

... _Speaking_ of Envy.

Speaking of Envy, it's been four hundred and thirty-two days since Scott last spoke to her.

Speaking of Envy, that number is about to go straight back to zero.

The phone rings just as Scott settles down in front of the TV, game controller in hand. He's about to dive into some side-scrolling brawler he'd picked up on the way home from the thrift store, but he's the closest to the phone- Wallace is out cleaning the kitchen- so he groans and sets the controller down again. "I'll get it," he says, but he regrets it as soon as he picks up.

_“Hi, Scott. It’s me.”_

Scott’s breath catches in his throat. Even through the distortion of the speaker, he recognizes Envy’s voice in a heartbeat, and he freezes in place for a few moments before he manages to say, ”It’s… it’s you.”

 _“Hi,”_ Envy says, and Scott’s not sure how he’s going to last through this conversation.

“Envy Adams,” he breathes. The squeaking of Wallace’s soaped-up washcloth against the stovetop stops abruptly. 

“Oh, shit.” And then Wallace is right there, crouching next to him, hands on his shoulder. It’s a silent _I’m here, I’ve got you,_ and it’s the only thing keeping Scott grounded and not going entirely catatonic.

_“Hi.”_

Oh, right. “Hi,” Scott says, and swallows down the shaking feeling that has him trembling.

“Put her on speaker,” Wallace says, too quiet for Envy to hear, and Scott, ever obedient, does so.

 _“It’s been a long time,”_ Envy says, and Scott turns his attention back to her.

“Yeah.”

_“A year, I think?”_

Actually, it’s been four hundred and thirty-two days- Scott’s been counting, despite it all. He can’t let Envy know that, though, of course; he settles on a safe “Approximately.”

 _“How are you?”_ Envy asks, as if she really cares.

Scott glances toward Wallace, who’s glaring intently at the phone. “Right now?”

_“Sure.”_

“Not good,” Scott says. “I’m not doing so good right now.”

_“That sucks.”_

“That heinous bitch,” Wallace mutters. Scott’s inclined to agree.

“Well, it’s obviously your fault,” he says.

_“Well, duh.”_

“Well, yeah.”

 _“How’s life?”_ Envy asks, though she sounds only the slightest bit interested. It makes sense- why would she care about someone she trampled into the dirt? _“Where are you living now?”_

“It’s, um, you take the- ow.” Scott looks back at Wallace, who’s swatted him gently in the arm to grab his attention.

“Don’t tell her where we live!” he mouths.

_“Um, are you okay?”_

“Uh, yeah,” Scott says, looking away from Wallace again.

_“Okay. You’re still living with Wallace?”_

If Scott were capable of smiling right now, he would; as it stands, all he can muster at the thought of his boyfriend is a slight twitch of the lips. “Yeah. I mean, we share a bed,” he answers. “It’s totally hot.” (It actually is a little hot.)

 _“Uh-huh,”_ Envy says, and then, putting an end to the verbal foreplay, she asks, _“How’s your love life? Still breaking hearts?”_

Taken aback- since when has he been breaking hearts?- Scott says, “What? No! Stop.” He sighs, then continues, “I’ve been- it’s been different. You have no idea.” 

_“Probably not,”_ Envy says. _“Do you have a girlfriend? Should I be jealous?”_

Oh, and now he’s gotta either a) keep one hell of a secret or b) come out to his awful ex. He turns to Wallace again, searching for any sort of guidance; Wallace simply mouths, “It’s up to you.” Easy for him to say; the guy’s been out for years.

Scott swallows, then, after a few moments spent trying to make up his mind, says, “...Actually, about me and Wallace…”

He can practically hear Envy raising her eyebrows as she repeats, _“...You and Wallace…?”_

“Uh, yeah. Is that a problem?” Scott asks, preparing for the worst. Who knows? Maybe Envy is violently homophobic and it just… never came up somehow. Maybe she even-

_“I’m jealous.”_

Well, it’s better than the worst case scenario, at least, but still baffling. _“You’re_ jealous?” Scott asks, frowning.

On the other end of the line, Envy gives a quiet scoff. _“I’m allowed.”_

Something- aggravation, perhaps, but softer; frustration, maybe?- bursts in the cockles of Scott’s heart as he says, _“You_ left _me!_ For… for that cocky pretty boy!” He runs a hand through his hair, inadvertently shrugging Wallace’s hands off his shoulder; when he returns to his former position, Wallace places them back, rubbing circles into the fabric of Scott’s shirt with one of his thumbs.

 _“You’ve never even_ seen _him,”_ Envy protests.

“Yeah, I know,” Scott says, biting back a groan. “You left me for a guy I’ve never even seen.” That earns him an extra slow swoop of Wallace’s thumb.

 _“Well,”_ Envy says, _“maybe you’ll see him soon.”_

Scott freezes. He’d rather die, actually, then see that guy. He shakes his head in an effort to clear it, and, even though it doesn’t work, he continues. “Oh, right. So, what is this? Why _are_ you calling, Envy?” 

_“What’s that supposed to mean?”_

“I mean, are you evil, or are you just being nice?”

 _“What, like do I have ulterior motives or something? Am I a_ user?” There’s a hint of hurt in her voice, but it doesn’t sound genuine at all. Figures.

“You’re _such_ a user!” Scott says, and, out of the corner of his eye, he notes that Wallace is nodding vigorously. 

And then Envy starts prattling on about some, some _band drama_ that Scott doesn’t give a shit about, and she drones on and on for what feels like a goddamn century, and it’s almost nice- emphasis on _almost-_ hearing her say something to him that isn’t _Get out of my life, Scott,_ but it’s not nice enough for him to not shut down and he feels like he’s going to shut down he _knows_ he’s going to shut down and

The handset’s in the cradle again. Envy’s gone. Scott looks over at Wallace, who’s put a premature end to the call, and asks, affect flat, “What’re you doing?” He sounds a bit like a robot; it would be funny if it weren’t so sad. 

“You looked a little dead, so I called her a bitch and hung up on her,” Wallace explains. “The woman gives me apoplexy, Scott.”

“You know she’s just gonna call Stephen and ask him about it,” Scott says, ignoring the fact that he doesn’t know what apoplexy is. “She was talking about us covering for a band, right?” He doesn’t recall much of Envy’s actual speech, but that seemed to be the gist of it.

Wallace hums an affirmative. “You gonna do it?”

Scott attempts to make a decision, or even begin to make one, but his mind goes blank when he tries. “I can’t- I can’t… think about that right now,” he says, and slumps down further into the easy chair. 

Wallace studies him for a moment, then says, “I think this warrants some hot cocoa.”

Scott nods, movements slow. Really, all he wants right now is to sleep, be it on the floor or on the futon or right in the easy chair; he just wants to be unconscious, dammit. But still, he’s not opposed to getting something warm into his body, which feels so cold inside all of a sudden.

“Okay.” Wallace sighs, glancing toward the phone, then presses a kiss to Scott’s temple before standing up and heading to the kitchenette.

In what feels like the blink of an eye, but has to have been at least a couple minutes, Wallace has got him set up with said cocoa and a blanket around his shoulders. “There,” he says. “Is that better?”

Again, a slow nod from Scott. “Thanks,” he mumbles.

And again, a hummed ‘no problem’ from Wallace. 

There’s silence for a few minutes until Scott’s finished- that is, silence sans the sipping- before he asks, “Do you need to be held? ‘Cuz I know you like to be held.”

“Kinda, yeah,” Scott says, too exhausted to be self-conscious about it, and there’s a bit more of a conversational tone in his voice, something warmer than the flatness it had before.

Wallace’s “Okay” is quite possibly the softest thing Scott’s ever heard, and, when he gets beneath the comforter on the futon and gestures for Scott to follow, he can’t get there fast enough.

“You’re welcome, by the by,” Wallace says a few minutes later, a smug sound in his voice; Scott’s aware that it’s only for the levity.

“Oh, yeah,” he says. “Thanks. I would probably be comatose right now if it weren’t for you.”

“Probably,” Wallace agrees, and kisses Scott on the temple again. “But you’ll be fine, right?”

For the first time since he picked up the phone, Scott manages a smile, albeit a small one. “Yeah,” he says, “I think I’m gonna be alright.”

## xix. i would do it all again

Scott’s nearly asleep when Wallace decides to have a rather big talk. They’re lying together in the dark, with Scott resting his tired head on Wallace’s chest, as per usual; the words hum in his cheekbone when he pipes up. “Where are we going?” Wallace asks, leaving Scott frowning in confusion.

“Um… I was planning on going to the thrift store tomorrow,” he says. “Like, to look for some jeans or whatever.”

Wallace is silent for a few moments. “That’s not what I meant.” He brings a hand up to play with the tips of Scott’s hair- Scott makes a mental note to trim it a bit. “I mean… like, where’s our _relationship_ going?”

Scott freezes, mind racing. Did he take back his forgiveness of him? Does he think this is a dead-end relationship? Is he going to break up with him? Trying not to let his anxiety affect his tone, he says, “Um… places, I hope.” He barely bites back a nervous chuckle. “I mean, you think we’re going places, right?”

Wallace laughs- not heartily enough to disturb Scott, more of a soft sound that has his heart tripping over itself. “Scott, I’m not breaking up with you,” he says. “You know I’ll stay as long as you want me to stay.”

Scott sighs, relief washing over him in a wave. Thank God- he’s not sure he could deal with another big breakup, especially with someone he was originally close friends with. “Then, what did you mean?” he asks.

“...Well,” Wallace says, and there’s a hesitation in his voice that has Scott yearning for an answer. “I mean, what do you think of the future? Do _you_ think we’re going places?” His hand travels to Scott’s upper arm, pulling him somehow closer.

Scott nods. “I mean, yeah,” he says. “We’ve been dating for, like…” He counts on his fingers in his mind’s eye. “Um, like, ten months. I sure hope we are.” It occurs to him that back then, a conversation like this would have him scared out of his mind; truly, it’s miraculous how Wallace can keep him grounded. 

“Cool.”

There’s silence for a few minutes, then, and Scott’s sure Wallace is asleep- he’s about to be, himself- but then Wallace pipes up again. “If I say something, will you promise not to judge me?” he asks, which is surprising, because usually it’s him who’s judging Scott- or, rather, his life decisions.

“I really don’t any right to,” Scott answers.

“Thanks.” Wallace clears his throat, then says, “I guess I’ve just never felt this way before, like... loving someone enough to think hard about the future with them. Or maybe I have, but not as intensely. So I want to make sure you feel the same way so I don’t look like a dickhead.” 

“Well, _duh,”_ Scott says. “Wait. Not ‘duh’ as in ‘duh, you look like a dickhead’ but ‘duh’ as in ‘duh, I feel the same way’.” He would close his eyes, but he doesn’t want to risk falling asleep. As it stands, his heart’s warmed by basically everything that’s gone on since he stopped panicking and thinking he was getting broken up with. (Stellar that his brain does that to him now.) “You’re cool. I like you.”

“Well, I hope you _more_ than like me,” Wallace says, “given that we’ve been together for ten months.” He laughs again, which always makes Scott’s heart rate tick up a bit.

“Okay, yes, I _love_ you, Wallace,” he says, and laughs in return- a genuine one now, not the awkward half-laugh he’d given in fright earlier.

Silence. Then: “I want it, you know.”

“Want what?”

Wallace’s hand returns to Scott’s hair, and he runs his fingers through the ginger strands as he says, “A future with you. Maybe get a little house and a cat or whatever.” 

“You want to get a house?” Scott asks, and finds that he can’t keep a smile back. It’s not like they don’t already live together, but something about a house just seems so… domestic. Warm.

“And a cat.”

“No kids, right?”

“No offense, Scott,” Wallace says, “but I don’t trust you as a father.”

Scott gasps, faux-scandalized. “Hey, I take offense to that!”

“Uh-huh. Well…” Wallace falls quiet for a few more seconds. “I’m just saying, if you wanted any of that… or anything else… I want it, too.”

Scott turns the concept over in his mind. Logically, he knows he should take it slow, be smart about it, but the thought of a future with somebody- especially Wallace- has him breathing wrong (in a good way). “...Cool,” is all he can think of to say, though it’s a giddy ‘cool’. “Yeah, that’s… I’d like that.”

“Cool,” Wallace agrees, and yawns. “We should get to sleep, though. Work in the morning.”

It’s with a heavy heart that Scott realizes he’s got work, too- he’s not used to having a job. “Right, right,” he says, and closes his eyes again. “Um… I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Wallace places his hand on the space between Scott’s ribs and his hip, and, when it slips down his back, Scott can be sure he’s finally asleep.

## xx. come out with me tonight

New Year’s Eve still sets Scott on edge two years post-Envy. He wakes up at around ten in the morning- seventeen minutes past the hour, to be exact- and is filled with apprehension the moment he opens his eyes. When he notes that Wallace is out in the kitchenette making pancakes, he takes a deep breath in, then heaves a sigh and sits up, stretching his tired limbs. “When’s breakfast going to be ready?” he asks.

“Good morning to you, too,” Wallace replies. “Give me a few more minutes. Didn’t know you’d be up in time to eat. Oh, and we’re running out of mix…”

“Alright.” Scott is tempted to flop back down and go back to sleep, but he can’t help but recall the pep talk Wallace gave him the day before, something along the lines of “You can’t let that Envy shit get in the way of your happiness, I love you and I’m a million times better than her, you’ll be fine”. It was better in the moment; Scott’s memory doesn’t do justice to it. Regardless, it keeps him going, and he finally stands up and approaches the bar.

There’s relative silence for a few moments, broken only by the sound of Wallace’s spatula on the skillet, before Scott asks, “So, why’re you still here? Don’t you have to go to work?”

Wallace shakes his head. “I took the day off. Figured you might need the emotional support.” He slides his spatula beneath a pancake on the skillet and ushers it onto a plate, then hands it to Scott without looking up. “Why, should I have gone in?”

“No,” Scott says almost instantly, “no, it’s… nice that you’re here.” Not bothering with a fork and knife, much less syrup, he picks up the pancake and takes a bite. Through his full mouth, he says, “You know, I haven’t dreamt about her in a while. And I get closure now. I don’t dream about her being dared to kiss me or anything.”

That gets a smile out of Wallace as he goes to prepare more batter, grabbing the nearly-empty box of pancake mix from the bar and some milk from the fridge. “Hey, that’s progress,” he says. “Maybe you’re finally getting over it.”

“Yeah, finally,” Scott says. He still doesn’t know _why_ it’s taken him so damn long to fully recover. It honestly all lends credence to Wallace’s trauma joke from the last New Year’s Eve, which he still remembers all too clearly. He really is getting over it, though; in fact, he finds that the fear he was struck with just minutes ago is waning. “I mean, I’ve _been_ over it,” he adds. “I just don’t like the day.”

“That’s fair. Do you have any plans for tonight?” Wallace stirs the milk into the mix, then pours what’s left of it onto the skillet.

“I’ll go wherever you go, man,” Scott says, and shrugs before shoving what remains of his pancake in his mouth. “Plus,” he continues, “it’ll be nice to spend time with you.”

“Sounds good.” Wallace flashes him a smile and reaches out to clap him on the shoulder. “You know I love hanging out with you.”

“God, I sure hope you do,” Scott says, huffing a laugh. “Where are _you_ going?” 

“Some club somewhere, dunno yet.” Wallace shrugs. “Other Scott says he found this new one I haven’t been to that seems pretty alright.”

“That works,” Scott says. “You know…”

“I know…?”

“I think I’ll be fine if I have a couple drinks,” Scott says, and it’s the truth- that he thinks so, anyway. 

Wallace’s face brightens into a smile again. “Hey, that’s great,” he says. “I’m genuinely proud of you.”

“Have you been un-genuinely proud of me before…?”

“Let’s not get into that.”

“Um, okay,” Scott says, and laughs. “Whatever. Anyway, thanks for letting me tag along.”

“We’ve been dating for, like, a year and a half,” Wallace says, which is a fair point. “It’s not just ‘letting you tag along’.”

“This is true.” Scott leans against the bar and studies Wallace- he’s used to him walking around in boxers, but it’s still pretty enjoyable. “You’re not going out in that, are you?” he teases, though the monogrammed shirt is better than anything he’s got on, or even owns at all.

Wallace glances down at his boxers, then to Scott. “Yes, actually, I am,” he says, deadpan, and Scott snickers.

“So, uh… what’re we gonna do for the rest of the day?” he asks. “The restaurants are gonna be hell, so I guess one of us is gonna have to cook or something.”

Wallace is silent for a moment, presumably pondering the question. “Well, what’s your perfect day? Do you want to go out, stay in...?”

“Um…” Scott ponders Wallace’s question in turn. “Let’s go to the arcade. That might be fun.”

“And make out in the corner?” Wallace asks, and, while there’s laughter in his voice, Scott’s well aware that he’s being vaguely serious.

“Well, duh.”

“Okay… this might not have been a good idea.”

The arcade parking lot is packed; there’s maybe two open spots, and Scott’s pretty sure that a car that’s coming up the road is about to turn into it. “You may be right,” he says, and turns to Wallace. “Um, should we go in anyway?”

Wallace stares through the large glass windows that line the arcade’s walls. “I dunno,” he says, and sighs. “It looks pretty crowded in there.” He shoots an apologetic look toward Scott, then adds, “Hey, chin up, guy. We’ll go to the arcade next week or something. It’s not like it’ll close anytime soon.”

Scott shrugs. “Not a big deal. I’ve been there a million times anyway.” He takes Wallace’s hand in his own, having given up looking around to see if anyone’s watching about a year ago, and swings it a little. “Should we go back home?”

“May as well,” Wallace mumbles, peering through the windows for a moment longer. “We could just lie around for a while. Better than going to my job, at least. And how come you got outta work?”

“Got the schedule changed a little bit with a big of the ol’ Pilgrim charm,” Scott says, and flashes Wallace a smile. “...By which I mean, I got Stephen Stills to take over my shift.”

“You’re a menace.”

“I’m _your_ menace.”

“That you are,” Wallace says, and presses a kiss to Scott’s cheek. “Now, can we go home? I’m freezing.”

Lying here with his boyfriend watching shitty horror movies, Scott decides, is way better than the arcade, which really says something. Wallace’s chin his on his head, arms wrapped around him as he lies between his legs; he can’t keep a contented smile off his face. “God, this movie _sucks,”_ he says. “I love it.”

“What did you expect from a movie about killer elevators?” Wallace asks. “It _is_ absolutely terrible, though. You did a good job picking it out.”

 _“Excuse_ you,” Scott says, huffing in mock offense, “I do a good job at everything.”

“Well, you’re a good kisser. I guess that’s all that matters,” Wallace says, and Scott gives a snort of laughter.

“You wanna see me in action?” he asks, wriggling out from Wallace’s arms, though he grieves the touch.

“Is that even a question?” Wallace answers. Scott’s lips are on his in a moment, though, shutting him up.

11:35 P.M. rolls around- Scott had set a timer for 10:30; the late outing hours necessitated a quick nap- which means it’s nearly time for the two of them to leave. A bit of Scott’s nervousness has come back, leaving him pacing around the room like a tiger in a cage. 

“Are… you okay?” Wallace asks, raising an eyebrow as he leans against the bar.

“Um, yeah,” Scott answers, though he’s not entirely certain. He stops in his tracks, then sighs and glances over at Wallace. “I don’t know. What if I’m not right? What if I get curb stomped by my stupid feelings again?” He groans, runs a hand through his hair, and tugs on it. “I don’t know. I could use another one of your pep talks. Can you just… talk to me?”

“Easiest thing in the world,” Wallace says, and pushes himself off the side of the bar, then closes the gap between himself and Scott and places his hands firmly on his shoulders. “The thing is, Scott, that I _know_ you’re strong. I know people who seriously would’ve offed themselves if they were as sad as you were the other year.”

Scott nods, staring into Wallace’s eyes- they’re like a lifeline.

“But you got through it,” Wallace continues. “Look, seriously, I really don’t think that harpy’s gonna get you down tonight. And if she does, so what? You’ve got me.”

“True,” Scott says. “And I know you love me.”

“Scott, not to sound like a raging homosexual- which I am- but I love you more than probably anything on this stupid planet.” 

Even though they’ve been together for a year and a half, things like these still make Scott blush. “Cool,” he says, voice wobbly. “I love you, too.” He takes a deep breath in, then exhales, and finally manages to crack a smile. “I think I’m good. I’m probably good.”

“Good,” Wallace says, and smiles in return. “Now, c’mon- we should be heading out. Don’t want to get there _too_ late.”

“Right,” Scott says, and nods decisively. He runs his hand through his hair, though not in as much a frustrated manner as earlier, and, when he blinks, Wallace is already across the room.

“Well? Are you coming?” he asks, slipping on his coat. 

There’s this look in his eyes that’s so disarming, and Scott finds that he has all the confidence in the world when he says, “Right behind you.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! i love you!


End file.
